THE  HOUS 

ON  .i^-^s 

THE  MAL 


PH 


il'i  ill  I 


EDGARJEPSO 


_ 

DlCGO 


THE    HOUSE   ON 
THE   MALL 


BY 


EDGAR  JEPSON 

Author  of  "The  Admirable  Tinker,"  "Lady  Noggs,  Princess," 
"Arsene  Lupin,"  etc. 


G.  W.    DILLINGHAM    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT.  1911,  BY 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM    COMPANY 


The  House  on  the  Mall 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  MARQUESS  OF  DRYSDALE  MAKES  A 

DISCOVERY 5 

II.     THE  THREE  DRUNKEN  MEN  AND  THE 

THREE  GRAYBEARDS 14 

III.  THE  AMBITIONS  OF  THE  MARQUESS     .  26 

IV.  A  DIVISION  OF  SPOILS 34 

V.    AT  RAWNSLEY'S  EMPORIUM     ...  49 

VI.    MONTAGUE  BURGE  SPOILS  His  OWN 

GAME 57 

VII.    MR.  SHORE- WARDELL  SPENDS  A  BUSY 

DAY 69 

VIII.    THE  SOLEMNITY  OF  THE  MARQUESS     .     79 
IX.     THE  MURDER  ON  THE  MALL    ...     88 
X.     INSPECTOR  GIFFEN  GETS  A  SHOCK     .     98 
XI.    ANDREW    RAWNSLEY    KEEPS   WATCH 
AND  INSPECTOR  GIFFEN  MAKES  IN- 
QUIRIES        109 

XII.    ANDREW  RAWNSLEY  is  FIRM  .     .     .   120 

XIII.  PAUL  MAULEVERER  TAKES  UP  THE  IN- 

QUIRY     128 

XIV.  LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT 140 

XV.     RUPERT   DRAYTON   MAKES  A  FRIEND  147 

XVI.     RUPERT  MEETS  THE  MARQUESS     .      .   156 

XVII.     RUPERT  is  CHECKED 166 

XVIII.    MONTAGUE  BURGE  SEEKS  AN  INTER- 
VIEW WITH  THE  CHIEF    ....   174 
3 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.    RUPERT  MEETS  NANCY       ....   185 
XX.    THE  TROUBLES  OF  INSPECTOR  GIFFEN  196 
XXI.    THE  WOOING  OF  NANCY  ....  205 
XXII.    INSPECTOR     GIFFEN     EXPLORES    THE 

HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      .     .     .     .215 

XXIII.  THE    DISAPPEARANCE    OF    INSPECTOR 

GIFFEN 224 

XXIV.  THE   DISAPPEARANCE  OF   MONTAGUE 

BURGE 231 

XXV.    A  DISCUSSION 243 

XXVI.    CRINKLY   BILLSON   LEARNS  THE  SE- 
CRET OF  THE  CIRCULAR  CELLAR     .  247 

XXVII.    RUPERT  PROPOSES 261 

XXVIII.    ANDREW  RAWNSLEY  TALKS  TO  INSPEC- 
TOR GIFFEN 268 

XXIX.    MR.  SHORE- WARDELL  GOES  DOWN  THE 

THAMES 280 

XXX.    COLONEL    WEBLING    ACTS    PRECIPI- 
TATELY   287 

XXXI.    INSPECTOR  GIFFEN  LEAVES  THE  HOUSE 

ON  THE  MALL 291 

XXXII.    THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL   WOMAN   IN 

EUROPE      .     .     .     ...    ;..    ...    .     .  300 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   MARQUESS   OF  DRYSDALE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 

THE  young  man  with  the  exceeding  solemn 
face  who  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  house  on 
the  Mall  was  Francis  Hugh  Wentworth 
Penderel,  Seventh  Marquess  of  Drysdale.  He 
paused  to  gaze  up  and  down  the  river,  beautiful  and 
inviting  in  the  sunlight,  and  congratulated  himself 
on  his  foresight  in  having  come  out  without  an  over- 
coat on  the  twentieth  of  April.  Indeed  after  six 
hours  bright  sunshine  the  spring  afternoon  was  al- 
most hot. 

He  stood  for  perhaps  two  minutes  admiring  the 
sun  on  the  river  and  the  faint  shade  of  the  green  of 
spring  on  the  meadows  on  the  further  bank,  with  a 
softness  and  wistfulness  in  his  fine  brown  eyes, 
somewhat  out  of  keeping  with  his  exceeding  solemn 
face.  Then  he  pressed  the  bell  and  knocked. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  pretty  parlor-maid. 

5 


6        THE  HOUSE  ON  THH  MALL 

She  smiled  at  the  sight  of  him  and  said,  "Mr. 
Rawnsley's  out,  my  lord,  and  so  is  Mr.  Mauleverer." 

"I'll  come  in  and  wait  till  one  of  them  comes 
home,  Annie,"  said  the  Marquess,  entering  the  hall ; 
and  with  a  sudden  expression  of  extraordinary 
gloom  he  chucked  her  under  the  chin. 

Annie  giggled  and  withdrew  swiftly  from  the 
young  nobleman's  reach. 

The  hall  was  lofty  but  not  large;  indeed  it  was 
not  large  enough  to  give  full  value  to  the  fine  Italian 
staircase  imported  from  some  palace  by  an  eigh- 
teenth-century owner  of  the  house.  At  the  top  of 
the  first  flight  of  stairs  was  a  niche  in  the  wall ;  and 
from  the  bottom  of  the  niche  rose  a  broad  pedestal 
some  six  inches  high  on  which  a  statue  should  have 
stood.  But  no  statue  stood  on  it ;  and  there  was  a 
curious  insistence  about  that  empty  niche ;  it  seemed 
so  to  demand  to  be  filled  that  its  emptiness  made  not 
only  the  staircase  but  the  whole  hall  look  incom- 
plete. 

The  Marquess  gave  Annie  his  hat  and  cane,  and 
said,  "I  think  I'll  wait  in  the  library." 

He  walked  across  the  hall,  along  the  corridor  at 
the  back  of  it,  and  into  a  room  on  the  left-hand  side 
at  the  end  of  the  corridor.  It  was  a  lofty  room 
lined  with  bookshelves  on  all  its  sides  to  a  height 
of  four  feet  from  the  ground.  On  the  top  of  the 
bookshelves  stood  some  fine  bronzes  and  pieces  of 
porcelain,  European  and  Oriental,  between  pictures. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL        7 

The  Marquess  gazed  round  the  beautiful  room 
with  the  carelessness  of  familiarity ;  then  a  new  pic- 
ture on  the  wall  caught  his  eye ;  and  he  crossed  the 
room  to  it.  As  he  looked  at  it  his  eyes  opened  wide 
and  he  whistled  softly.  Lately  there  had  been  para- 
graphs in  the  papers  about  the  disappearance  of  the 
famous  Botticelli  from  Galatina  and  the  great  an- 
noyance of  the  Italian  authorities  that  it  should  have 
been  smuggled  out  of  the  country.  The  Marquess 
gazed,  frowning  but  admiring,  at  the  picture,  and 
the  longer  he  gazed  the  surer  he  grew  that  if  it 
were  not  the  Galatina  Botticelli  itself,  it  was  that 
much  less  probable  thing,  an  exceedingly  fine  con- 
temporary copy  of  it.  He  gazed  his  fill  and  came 
to  the  window. 

He  looked  down  into  the  garden;  and  his  eyes 
opened  wide  again ;  on  the  lawn,  in  the  warm  sun, 
sat  a  girl  reading.  The  sunbeams  playing  in  her 
soft  brown  hair  filled  it  with  gleams  of  gold.  Her 
rounded  cheeks  were  delightful  with  the  hue  of 
wild  roses.  Her  nose  was  straight;  and  the  Mar- 
quess could  see  plainly  the  delicate  curve  of  the  nos- 
tril. Her  lips  were  sensitive,  a  little  full,  and  curved 
in  the  fashion  of  Cupid's  bow.  The  Marquess 
thought  that  he  had  never  seen  lips  which  so  in- 
vited kisses.  Her  chin  was  betwixt  round  and 
square,  with  an  enchanting  dimple  in  it.  Her  fore- 
head was  broad,  her  brows  level ;  but  the  Marquess 
could  not  see  the  eyes  under  them.  They  never 


8        THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

stirred  from  the  book;  and  her  lips  were  a  little 
parted  as  if  she  found  it  thrilling. 

The  Marquess  was  not  unduly  sensible  to  the 
charms  of  women.  But  this  was  the  face  of  a 
dream ;  and  he  stood  gazing  at  it  with  a  warm  ad- 
miration. Then  he  began  to  desire  to  see  what  color 
were  her  eyes.  He  was  about  to  make  a  noise  to 
make  her  look  up,  when  the  empty  garden  chair 
beside  her  suggested  to  him  that  he  would  see  those 
eyes  much  better  were  he  nearer  to  them.  He  drew 
quietly  back  from  the  window,  came  quietly  out  of 
the  room,  and  even  more  quietly  through  the  glass 
door,  down  the  moss-grown  steps,  and  on  to  the 
lawn  ten  feet  away  from  her.  Then  she  started, 
raised  her  head,  and  gazed  at  him  with  the  most 
glorious  dark-blue  eyes  he  had  ever  seen. 

The  heart  of  the  Marquess  leapt  in  his  bosom ;  but 
he  gazed  at  her  with  an  ineffable  solemnity,  bowed, 
and  said,  "Please  don't  let  me  disturb  you;  but 
I'm  waiting  for  Mr.  Rawnsley;  and  the  garden 
seemed  the  proper  place  to  wait  in  on  a  glorious 
afternoon  like  this."  And  he  smiled  at  her. 

The  Marquess  did  not  often  smile,  but  when  he 
did  his  smile  was  uncommonly  winning.  It  illu- 
mined his  solemn,  stern  face  in  a  fashion  which 
many  women  found  fascinating.  Some  of  them  had 
made  no  secret  to  him  of  its  fascination. 

The  girl  hestitated;  and  the  hue  of  wild  roses 
deepened  in  her  cheeks.  His  smile  and  the  solem- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL        g 

nity  into  which  it  faded  seemed  to  reassure  her; 
and  in  a  low,  well-modulated,  delightful  voice 
she  said,  ''Yes,  it  is  an  afternoon  for  out-of- 
doors." 

The  Marquess  looked  at  her  with  solemn  eyes ;  and 
her  eyes  fell  before  them.  She  found  them  master- 
ful. Then  he  said :  "Well,  as  there's  no  one  to  in- 
troduce us,  I  had  better  introduce  myself.  I  am  the 
Marquess  of  Drysdale." 

The  girl  hesitated.  The  solemn  eyes  of  the  Mar- 
quess rested  on  her  face,  grave  and  inquiring.  She 
found  a  compulsion  in  them;  and  she  said  in  reluc- 
tant obedience  to  it,  "I  am  Nancy  Weston,  Mr. 
Rawnsley's  secretary." 

"Ah,"  said  the  Marquess,  sitting  down  in  the 
empty  chair  with  a  faint  sight  of  relief,  "I  was  hop- 
ing you  had  a  name  like  that." 

He  crossed  his  legs  and  gazed  solemnly  round 
the  garden.  She  was  a  little  taken  aback;  but  his 
solemnity  was  disarming.  With  a  quick  glance 
she  took  in  his  profile,  the  rather  high  forehead,  the 
strong,  arched  nose,  the  firm,  full  lips,  and  the 
strong,  square  chin.  His  skin  was  rather  pale  but 
clear;  and  there  was  a  ripple  in  his  dark-brown, 
almost  black,  hair. 

"I  think  that  this  is  one  of  the  oddest  gardens  in 
London,"  he  said.  "This  turf  must  be  at  least 
three  hundred  years  old;  and  these  cedars  of  Le- 
banon are  not  much  younger  than  the  Crusades ;  and 


io      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

then  you  have  that  abominable  modern  building 
towering  above  it  all." 

He  nodded  towards  the  bottom  of  the  garden, 
where,  above  the  row  of  tall,  dense  sycamores,  rose 
for  thirty  feet  the  top  of  the  wall  of  Rawnsley's 
Emporium. 

"It's  a  blessing  that  there  are  no  windows  in  it. 
Mr.  Rawnsley  had  the  sense  not  to  let  anyone  over- 
look his  garden,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  that  would  have  been  a  pity,"  said  Nancy. 

This  impersonal  talk  about  the  garden  was  set- 
ting her  at  her  ease.  Besides,  she  did  not  know 
the  proper  method  of  dealing  with  marquesses  who 
coolly  introduced  themselves  to  you,  especially  when 
they  were  so  very  solemn.  Marquesses  are  not  as 
other  men. 

They  both  looked  round  the  garden,  appraising 
it.  On  their  right  was  a  thirty-foot,  ivy-covered 
wall.  It  shut  out  the  houses  of  the  Malkin  Lane, 
which  runs  along  the  side  of  the  garden  from  the 
Mall  to  the  High  Road.  On  their  left  a  thick  shrub- 
bery of  tall  Wellingtonias  and  deodoras  shut  them 
in  with  a  wall  of  a  richer  green. 

"When  it's  peaceful  like  this  one  might  be  thirty 
miles  out  of  London,"  said  the  Marquess.  "But 
often  the  hum  from  the  power-house  behind  those 
Wellingtonias  spoils  it." 

"It's  very  curious  but  I  never  hear  the  hum  now," 
said  Nancy.  "You  see  I  live  in  the  power-house." 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL       n 

"You  live  in  the  power-house?"  said  the  Mar- 
quess. 

"Yes,  my  uncle  is  the  engineer  of  it,"  said  Nancy. 

"Why  the  vibration  must  make  it  like  living  on  a 
steamer.  But  perhaps  you're  a  good  sailor,"  said 
the  Marquess. 

"I'm  quite  used  to  it  now.  I  don't  notice  it.  But 
when  I  first  came  from  the  country  it  was  like  liv- 
ing on  a  steamer." 

"Ah,  you  came  from  the  country — proper  place 
for  you,"  said  the  Marquess;  and  his  eyes  rested, 
quiet  and  admiring,  on  her  beautiful  face. 

"Yes,  I  lived  all  my  life  at  Alington,  till  six 
months  ago,"  said  Nancy ;  and  she  sighed. 

"And  now  you  live  in  a  power-house  and  act 
as  Mr.  Rawnsley's  secretary.  Don't  you  hate 
it?" 

"No,  I  don't  hate  it  exactly;  but  I  like  the  coun- 
try better,"  said  Nancy  thoughtfully.  "But  then 
my  aunt  died ;  and  I  came  to  live  with  my  uncle.  I 
don't  like  work  much ;  but  then  I  have  to  work." 

"You  shouldn't  like  it  at  all,"  said  the  Marquess 
firmly.  "It's  so  unintelligent  to  like  work — unless 
it's  work  you  want  to  do ;  and  then  of  course  it's  a 
game." 

"Yes,  if  it  had  been  gardening  it  would  have  been 
quite  another  thing,"  said  Nancy  quickly. 

"But  there  are  things  in  London  which  make  up 
for  not  being  in  the  country — friends,  theatres,  pic- 


12      THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

ture  galleries,"  said  the  Marquess;  and  his  eyes 
grew  keen  and  questioning. 

Nancy  shook  her  head:  "I  haven't  any  friends 
yet — not  real  friends;  and  I  don't  often  go  to  the 
theatre.  My  uncle  doesn't  care  for  things  like  that. 
You  see  he's  an  inventor  as  well  as  an  engineer;  and 
he's  always  working." 

The  Marquess  looked  faintly  relieved;  and  his 
eyes  grew  careless  again :  "It  must  be  very  dull  for 
you,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  no ;  I  have  lots  of  books  to  read.  My  uncle 
subscribes  to  Boots'  Library  for  me." 

"They're  not  like  life,"  said  the  Marquess. 

"They're  all  I've  got,"  said  Nancy. 

He  talked  to  her  about  books  she  had  read  and 
books  she  liked,  and  told  her  of  other  books  she 
would  like.  He  learned  from  her  the  hours  she 
worked,  the  hours  at  which  she  went  to  the  Em- 
porium and  came  away  from  it,  slipping  in  his  ques- 
tions with  careless  deftness  in  the  middle  of  their 
talk  about  books.  All  the  while  he  watched  her 
face  changing  from  beauty  to  beauty  as  it  changed 
from  expression  to  expression.  Her  simplicity 
charmed  him ;  it  even  touched  him  a  little.  He  could 
not  understand  how  such  a  beautiful  creature  had 
contrived  to  remain  so  simple.  This  was  indeed  a 
flower  to  find  in  this  Old  World  garden ;  he  was  in- 
terested, a  little  excited. 


THB  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL       13 

They  had  grown  almost  intimate  when  a  voice 
above  them  said,  "How  are  you,  Drysdale  ?" 

They  looked  up  startled ;  and  framed  in  the  win- 
dow of  the  library  they  saw  the  leonine,  benevolent 
head  of  Mr.  Rawnsley. 

The  Marquess  rose  reluctantly,  bent  down,  shook 
hands  with  Nancy,  and  said,  "It  was  awfully  good 
of  you  to  let  me  inflict  myself  on  you  like  this.  We 
shall  meet  again  soon.  Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Nancy,  flushing  in  a  sudden 
shyness  as  she  realized  how  intimate  she  had  grown 
with  an  utter  stranger. 

The  Marquess  walked  up  into  the  library;  and 
Mr.  Rawnsley  greeted  him  with  a  somewhat  mock- 
ing smile. 

"I  see  that  it's  you  who  have  collared  the  Gala- 
tina  Botticelli,"  said  the  Marquess,  promptly  taking 
the  offensive. 

"Yes :  things  do  come  my  way,"  said  Mr.  Rawns- 
ley, carelessly.  "You  seemed  to  be  getting  on  very 
well  with  Miss  Weston." 

"Yes.  Who  is  Miss  Weston?"  said  the  Mar- 
quess. 

"I  think  you  had  better  let  her  alone,"  said  Mr. 
Rawnsley. 

"I  always  let  them  alone,"  said  the  Marquess  very 
solemnly. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  THREE  DRUNKEN  MEN  AND  THE  THREE  GREY- 
BEARDS 

THE  clocks  of  Knightsbridge  had  just  struck 
one  of  the  morning  of  the  2ist  of  April 
when  Mr.  Ramsay,  a  Londoner  of  the  shab- 
biest and  most  uncleanly  appearance,  shambled 
across  the  road  from  the  pavement  which  runs  un- 
der the  wall  of  the  Knightsbridge  Barracks  and  took 
his  way  into  Rutland  Gate.  He  had  been  shivering 
peacefully,  for  his  coat  and  trousers  were  thin  and 
ventilated  by  openings  in  unusual  places,  in  the 
shelter  of  the  wall  of  the  barracks  for  half  an  hour, 
ever  since  the  closing  of  the  bars,  in  fact;  but  a 
few  yards  down  Rutland  Gate  he  began  to  behave  in 
a  far  from  peaceful  way.  He  shouted  and  yelled 
and  roared  and  screamed  in  a  manner  which  might 
have  excited  but  little  notice  in  the  Commercial 
Road,  Whitechapel,  but  which  was  highly  improper 
in  the  select  and  expensive  quarter  which  now  echoed 
and  re-echoed  to  his  voice.  At  the  same  moment 
Mr.  Robert  Turner  came  from  Ennismore  Gardens 
into  the  bottom  of  Rutland  Gate  and  was  even 

14 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL       15 

more  loudly  guilty  of  the  same  improper  behavior. 
A  minute  later  Mr.  William  Preece  came  into  Rut- 
land Gate  from  Montpelier  Square  and  at  once  grew 
vocal  with  the  same  vehemence.  From  their  ap- 
pearance and  dress  Mr.  Robert  Turner  and  Mr. 
William  Preece  might  have  been  brothers  of  Mr. 
Hector  Ramsay  and  of  one  another.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  there  was  no  tie  of  blood  between  any  of 
these  three;  the  likeness  between  them  probably 
arose  from  the  fact  that  they  all  followed  the  same 
occupation,  that  of  propping  up  the  walls  of  saloons 
in  the  intervals  of  acting  as  cab-touts. 

Police  constable  191  was  hurrying  up  Rutland 
Gate  towards  Mr.  Hector  Ramsay,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  ridding  a  quiet  neighborhood  of  a  vocifer- 
ous intruder  with  the  least  possible  delay,  when  he 
heard  Mr.  Robert  Turner  raise  his  untuneful  roar 
at  the  bottom.  He  did  not  stay  his  steps,  however; 
he  seized  Mr.  Hector  Ramsay  and  hurried  him  up 
into  the  Knightsbridge  road.  As  they  reached  it, 
Mr.  Hector  Ramsay  put  his  foot  in  front  of  police 
constable  191  and  they  came  to  the  ground  to- 
gether. Police  constable  191  rose  and  hesitated; 
then  his  ears  assured  him  that  Rutland  Gate  was 
silent,  and  he  resolved  to  take  Mr.  Hector  Ramsay 
to  the  police  station. 

Silence  reigned  in  Rutland  Gate  because,  after 
one  loud  burst  of  yelling,  Mr.  Robert  Turner  had 
turned  on  his  heel  and  gone  back  into  Ennismore 


16      THB  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

Gardens  where  he  yelled  on;  and  at  the  same  time 
Mr.  William  Preece  also  had  turned  and  was  now 
roaring  in  Montpelier  Square.  In  three  minutes 
Mr.  Robert  Turner  had  fallen  into  the  strong  hands 
of  police  constable  327,  who  hustled  him  down  into 
the  Brompton  Road.  At  about  the  same  moment 
Mr.  William  Preece  was  culled  in  Montpelier 
Square  by  police  constable  498  and  also  hurried 
down  into  the  Brompton  Road. 

It  was  in  the  main  thoroughfares  that  the  cap- 
tives became  restive.  Mr.  Hector  Ramsay  every 
twenty  yards  flung  himself  down  on  the  ground 
weeping,  so  that  police  constable  191  had  to  enlist 
the  services  of  the  policeman  on  duty  at  the  corner 
of  the  Knightsbridge  and  Brompton  Roads  to  help 
get  him  to  the  police  station.  Mr.  Robert  Turner 
went  like  a  silent  lamb  as  far  as  the  Brompton  Road : 
then  by  a  sudden  jerk  he  broke  away  from  his  cap- 
tor and  raced  him  to  the  Oratory.  There  he  was  re- 
captured. Mr.  William  Preece,  who  prided  himself 
on  being  a  fighting  Imperialist,  was  in  the  end  frog- 
marched to  the  police  station  by  four  policemen,  two 
of  them  black-eyed. 

By  the  time  the  charges  had  been  taken  and  the 
three  prisoners  safely  deposited  in  their  cells,  it  was 
a  quarter  to  two.  From  five  minutes  past  one  till  a 
quarter  to  two  therefore  Rutland  Gate  was  uncom- 
monly bare  of  policemen. 

Those  of  the  dwellers  in  it  who  had  retired  to 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL       17 

bed  at  a  reasonable  hour  had  no  occasion  to  observe 
this  fact ;  Lady  Aldington  had.  She  had  been  sup- 
ping after  some  auction  bridge  at  the  house  of  Lord 
Trouton  in  Park  Lane.  When  she  got  into  her 
motor  brougham  she  was  annoyed  to  perceive  that 
Henry  Timbs,  the  footman  who  was  wont  to  sit  be- 
side her  chauffeur,  was  not  in  his  place.  Near  the 
Albert  Gate  she  stopped  the  brougham  to  learn  the 
reason  of  his  absence.  The  chauffeur  told  her  that 
on  his  return  from  taking  her  to  Lord  Trouton's 
Henry  Timbs  had  gone  out,  just  for  an  hour  or  two, 
but  had  not  returned  by  the  time  the  brougham 
must  start  to  bring  her  home.  Lady  Aldington  was 
so  absorbed  in  the  consideration  whether  to  dis- 
charge Henry  Timbs  for  his  unpunctuality,  or  mere- 
ly reprimand  him  severely,  that  she  failed  to  notice 
Mr.  Hector  Ramsay  lying  in  tears  on  the  pavement 
in  the  middle  of  a  group  composed  of  one  aggravat- 
ed policeman  and  seven  sympathetic  spectators  who 
were  adjuring  the  aggravated  policeman  not  to  be 
brutal  with  the  poor  man.  The  chauffeur  passed  the 
group  with  a  cynical  smile;  he  was  a  man  of  the 
world.  Lady  Aldington  had  decided  to  discharge 
Henry  Timbs  when  the  brougham  stopped  at  Lord 
Aldington's  house  in  Rutland  Gate. 

She  was  about  to  open  the  door  of  the  brougham 
and  let  herself  into  the  house;  for,  of  course,  it 
was  not  the  work  of  the  chauffeur  to  ring  the  bell 
for  her,  and  he  was  sitting  still  in  his  seat,  when  a 


i8      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

grey-bearded  cab-tout  opened  the  door  for  her.  She 
stepped  out  of  it ;  and  on  the  instant  the  tout  threw 
his  right  arm  round  her  arms  and  body,  gripped  her 
throat  with  his  left,  and  half  dragging,  half  carry- 
ing her,  stepped  into  the  brougham  with  her.  She 
could  neither  resist  nor  scream.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment a  much  bigger  man,  of  the  same  tout-like  ap- 
pearance and  also  grey-bearded,  who  had  stolen  up 
on  the  other  side  of  the  brougham,  seized  the  chauf- 
feur by  the  throat,  with  both  hands,  from  behind, 
lugged  him  from  his  seat,  and  dragged  him  into  the 
brougham  by  the  other  door.  As  the  chauffeur  was 
dragged  from  his  seat,  a  grey-bearded  man  in  the 
dress  of  a  coachman  stepped  into  it  from  the  pave- 
ment, and  at  a  cry  of  "Right !"  from  one  of  the  new 
occupants  of  the  brougham,  started  it  up  Rutland 
Gate. 

As  the  brougham  started,  her  captor,  still  keep- 
ing his  left  hand  on  Lady  Aldington's  throat,  thrust 
a  gag  into  her  mouth,  bound  her  hands  and  feet 
with  pieces  of  rope  of  a  convenient  size  which  he 
took  from  the  pocket  of  his  jacket,  and  then  blind- 
folded her.  He  bound  her  hands  and  feet  tightly, 
letting  no  sentimental  considerations  of  her  sex  or 
her  comfort  interfere  with  her  security.  Then  he 
dropped  her  back,  as  helpless  as  a  trussed  fowl,  in 
her  seat,  and  turned  his  attention  to  the  chauffeur, 
who  was  rather  more  than  half  throttled  by  the  grip 
of  his  big  companion.  He  gagged,  bound  and  blind- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     19 

folded  him  with  a  celerity  which  could  only  have 
come  from  considerable  practice  in  the  art  of  truss- 
ing up  his  fellow  creatures.  Then  he  lifted  Lady 
Aldington  on  to  the  front  seat  beside  the  chauffeur ; 
and  his  big  companion  moved  over  to  his  side. 
Finally  he  took  a  cigar-case  from  his  pocket,  offered 
a  cigar  to  that  big  companion,  lighted  one  himself; 
and  the  pair  of  them  sat  back,  smoking  comfortably. 
Not  a  word  had  been  spoken.  By  that  time  the 
brougham  was  running  into  Kilburn. 

They  sat  still  in  the  same  silence  for  nearly  half 
an  hour ;  and  the  brougham  was  in  the  open  country 
beyond  Harrow.  Then  the  kidnapper  took  an  elec- 
tric lamp  from  his  pocket,  switched  it  on,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  strip  off  Lady  Aldington's  jewels,  her 
necklace,  tiara,  and  ear-rings  in  which  were  set 
the  famous  Aldington  emeralds,  her  bracelets  and 
her  rings.  In  three  minutes  he  had  transferred  thir- 
ty thousand  pounds  worth  of  jewels  from  her  per- 
son to  a  wash-leather  bag.  He  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
lighted  another  cigar,  and  leaned  back  in  his  seat 
with  a  faint  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

Five  and  thirty  minutes  later,  though  it  seemed 
more  like  two  hours  to  the  terrified  chauffeur  and 
his  mistress,  the  brougham  turned  off  the  road,  ran 
along  turf  for  perhaps  a  hundred  yards,  and  stopped. 
The  big  kidnapper  got  out  of  it,  the  other  lifted 
Lady  Aldington  and  the  chauffeur  on  to  the  back 
seat,  covered  them  with  a  rug,  and  got  out  also. 


20      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

The  brougham  was  standing  in  a  grove  of  pine 
trees ;  the  grey-bearded  man  who  had  driven  it  had 
left  his  seat;  and  the  three  of  them  walked  to  the 
road.  On  the  edge  of  it  they  waited  behind  a 
screen  of  furze  bushes.  They  had  not  waited  ten 
minutes  before  a  large  motor  car,  covered  with  a 
cape  hood,  came  slowly  and  noiselessly  down  the 
road.  They  got  into  it ;  it  turned  and  was  presently 
going  through  the  winding  lanes  as  fast  as  was 
safe. 

It  came  out  on  to  the  London  road  a  mile  above 
Watford  on  the  King's  Langley  side.  In  very  little 
more  than  half  an  hour  it  ran  down  the  Edgware 
Road  to  the  Marble  Arch.  There  it  turned  up  Bays- 
water  and  ran  to  Netting  Hill.  At  the  corner  of 
Church  Street  a  grey-bearded  man  of  middle  height, 
but  of  uncommon  breadth,  got  out  of  it  and  walked 
briskly  down  the  High  Street  towards  Holland 
Park  Avenue.  As  he  opened  the  door  of  the  car, 
with  his  back  to  his  confederates,  he  stripped  off  his 
grey  beard,  and  before  his  foot  touched  the  pave- 
ment he  was  a  mustachioed  man.  The  car  ran 
down  Church  Street  into  Kensington  and  from 
there  to  Piccadilly.  At  the  corner  of  St.  James's 
Street  a  grey-bearded  man  in  a  top  hat  and  long 
black  overcoat  got  out  of  it  and  went  down  St. 
James's  Street.  As  he  turned  into  King  Street  he 
stripped  off  his  beard  and  became  clean-shaven.  The 
car  ran  down  to  Victoria.  It  stopped  at  the  corner 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      21 

of  the  Vauxhall  Bridge  Road;  and  there  the  big 
kidnapper  got  out  of  it  and  walked  down  towards 
Vauxhall.  He  was  wearing  now  a  short,  pointed 
black  beard,  and  loud  checked  suit.  The  car  turned, 
came  back  down  into  Piccadilly,  ran  through  Ken- 
sington and  Hammersmith  into  the  Chiswick  High 
Road,  and  turned  down  Malkin  Lane  on  to  the 
Mall.  It  stopped  before  the  wooden  doors  beside  a 
big  house  on  the  Mall.  The  driver  got  down, 
opened  them  and  then  the  doors  of  a  motor  garage, 
and  ran  the  car  into  it.  It  was  a  very  softly-moving 
car ;  and  it  is  to  be  doubted  that  any  of  the  dwellers 
in  the  Mall  heard  it  return. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  William  Gosset,  a 
farm  laborer,  crossing  Chipperfield  Common  on  his 
way  to  work,  was  greatly  surprised  to  see  a  motor 
brougham  standing  among  the  pine  trees  a  few 
yards  from  the  path.  He  went  to  it,  and  was  even 
more  surprised  to  see  that  the  two  people,  sitting  so 
still  on  the  back  seat,  were  blindfolded.  After  a 
little  hesitation,  for  quickness  was  not  the  prime 
quality  of  his  wits,  he  rapped  on  the  glass  of  the 
window.  The  further  figure,  a  man,  drew  his 
hands  from  under  the  rug  which  covered  the  knees 
of  the  two  figures,  and  held  them  out.  William 
Gosset  saw  that  they  were  bound  together.  He 
went  round  to  the  other  door,  opened  it,  got  into 
the  brougham,  took  the  bandage  off  the  man's  eyes, 
and  unbound  his  hands.  The  man  took  the  gag 


22      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

out  of  his  mouth,  and  rubbing  his  stiff  wrists  with 
his  stiff  hands,  bade  William  Gosset  unbind  his  feet. 
As  soon  as  they  were  unbound,  he  and  William  Gos- 
set freed  Lady  Aldington  from  the  bandage  over 
her  eyes,  the  gag,  and  her  bonds.  Her  tongue  was 
stiff,  but  she  contrived  to  say  a  good  deal,  none  of 
it  greatly  to  the  point.  As  he  got  his  limbs  limber, 
the  chauffeur  questioned  William  Gosset  as  to  their 
whereabouts.  Then,  as  soon  as  he  got  rid  of  some 
of  his  stiffness,  he  got  out  of  the  brougham  and 
tested  his  engine.  He  found  it  in  going  order,  and 
he  found  that  there  was  enough  petrol  left  in  the 
tank  to  take  them  to  London.  He  went  back  to  the 
door  of  the  brougham  and  suggested  to  Lady  Ald- 
ington that  the  London  police  were  best  qualified  to 
deal  with  the  matter,  and  that  the  sooner  it  was  in 
their  hands  the  better.  She  agreed  with  him.  He 
inquired  of  William  Gosset  the  nearest  way  to  the 
London  Road,  gave  him  five  shillings,  and  started. 
At  ten  minutes  past  six  the  brougham  reached 
Lord  Aldington's  house  in  Rutland  Gate.  Lady 
Aldington  found  most  of  the  servants  awake  and 
her  husband  in  a  state  of  the  liveliest  alarm.  He  had 
long  ago  roused  Lord  Trouton  and  learned  that  she 
had  left  Park  Lane  at  about  one  o'clock.  He  had 
roused  others  of  their  friends  in  Mayfair  and 
learned  that  she  had  not  stopped  at  any  of  their 
houses  on  her  way  home.  Then  he  had  rung  up 
Scotland  Yard  and  informed  the  detectives  on  duty 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      23 

of  her  disappearance.  On  hearing  of  her  adven- 
ture, he  at  once  rang  them  up  again  and  informed 
them  of  the  kidnapping  and  of  the  theft  of  the  Ald- 
ington emeralds. 

At  ten  minutes  to  seven  Detective  Inspector  Gif- 
fen  arrived  at  Rutland  Gate  and  heard  the  story 
from  the  lips  of  Lady  Aldington  and  the  chauffeur. 
At  first,  with  the  catholicity  of  suspicion  which 
marks  the  true  detective,  he  was  disposed  to  regard 
the  affair  as  a  put-up  job  between  the  lady  and  the 
chauffeur,  since  it  was  always  probable  that  Lady 
Aldington,  a  leader  of  the  polite  world,  might  have 
got  into  trouble  at  bridge  or  racing  and  be  sorely  in 
need  of  money.  But  after  he  had  questioned  them 
separately,  displaying  far  more  gentleness  in  his  in- 
terview with  Lady  Aldington  than  in  his  interview 
with  the  chauffeur,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  not 
only  that  it  was  not  a  put-up  job  between  them,  but 
that  neither  of  them  was  in  any  way  concerned  in 
the  theft  save  as  a  victim  of  the  kidnappers.  Then 
he  perceived  that  he  had  to  deal  with  one  of  the 
best-planned  and  most  audacious  robberies  which 
had  ever  been  brought  to  the  notice  of  Scotland 
Yard.  He  was  inclined  to  attribute  it  to  American 
enterprise. 

He  lost  no  time.  He  went  back  to  Scotland 
Yard,  drew  up  a  report  of  the  circumstances  of  the 
robbery  for  the  consideration  of  his  superiors,  when 
they  should  arrive  at  their  offices,  and  soon  after 


24      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

half-past  nine  he  was  on  Chipperfield  Common,  ex- 
amining the  ground  before  starting  on  his  in- 
quiries into  the  means  by  which  the  thieves  had  left 
the  neighborhood. 

Soon  after  ten  that  morning,  Mr.  Hector  Ram- 
say and  Mr.  Robert  Turner  were  fined  five  shillings, 
with  an  option  of  going  to  prison  for  seven  days, 
for  having  been  drunk  and  disorderly  the  night  be- 
fore. Mr.  William  Preece  was  fined  twenty  shill- 
ings, with  the  option  of  going  to  prison  for  a  month, 
for  having  also  resisted  the  police  in  the  execution 
of  their  duty.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  their  fines 
were  paid,  an  event  unique  in  the  history  of  any  of 
the  three,  the  police  failed  to  connect  their  obstrep- 
erous behavior  with  the  loss  of  Lady  Aldington's 
emeralds.  Not  one  of  the  three  connected  himself 
with  that  loss.  In  the  first  place,  they  did  not  know 
that  the  emeralds  had  been  stolen,  since  Inspector 
Giffen  kept  that  knowledge  from  the  papers  for  six 
days,  and  only  suffered  them  to  learn  it  then  be- 
cause he  had  not  been  able  to  find  the  smallest  clue 
to  the  grey-bearded  kidnappers,  and  hoped  that  pub- 
licity might  bring  him  one.  In  the  second  place, 
had  they  known  of  the  robbery,  Mr.  Hector  Ram- 
say, Mr.  Robert  Turner  and  Mr.  William  Preece 
were  given  to  drink,  not  thought.  In  the  third 
place,  after  each  of  the  three  had  received  at  a  dif- 
ferent public-house  the  three  sovereigns  from  the 
young  gentleman  of  a  waggish  air  whose  humorous 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      25 

mind,  so  he  told  them,  had  conceived  the  agreeable, 
but  practical,  joke  of  rousing  the  inhabitants  of 
Rutland  Gate,  Ennismore  Gardens  and  Montpelier 
Square  from  their  early  morning  slumbers,  all  three 
of  them  were  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  which  pre- 
vented all  thought  for  a  week.  At  the  end  of  that 
week  all  three  of  them  were  in  gaol.  When  they 
came  out  the  events  of  the  preceding  month  were 
so  hazy  in  their  minds  that  it  would  probably  have 
been  impossible,  even  for  the  one  person  who  had  all 
the  facts  at  his  finger  ends,  to  convince  them  that 
they  had  cleared  Rutland  Gate  of  police  for  the 
period  during  which  their  presence  was  unnecessary 
to  the  kidnappers. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  AMBITIONS  OF  THE  MARQUESS 

THE  Marquess  of  Drysdale  had  fallen  into  the 
life  of  Nancy  Weston  with  a  good  deal  of 
the  effect  of  a  stone  falling  into  a  quiet 
pond;  he  ruffled  it.  His  face  and  his  talk  kept  re- 
curring to  her  mind.  She  wondered  whether  she 
ought  not  to  have  refused  to  let  him  make  her  ac- 
quaintance unintroduced.  Her  aunt  and  her  friends 
at  Alington,  Mrs.  Piggott,  the  wife  of  the  doctor, 
and  Mrs.  Mainwaring,  the  wife  of  the  parson,  her 
instructors  in  the  social  observances,  had  taught  her 
to  discourage  with  the  utmost  firmness  the  unin- 
troduced acquaintance.  She  did  not  know  how  far 
their  instructions  applied  to  marquesses;  and  noth- 
ing could  have  been  more  a  matter  of  course  than 
the  way  in  which  the  Marquess  had  sat  down  and 
talked  to  her. 

She  wondered,  too,  what  he  had  meant  by  say- 
ing that  they  would  soon  meet  again.  It  seemed  a 
most  unlikely  thing,  though  they  might  meet  in 
the  garden.  That  would  be  a  mere  chance,  for  what 
with  her  work  and  the  weather  she  would  not  get 

26 


THH  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      27 

many  opportunities  of  reading  in  the  garden.  If 
they  did  meet,  she  could  not  very  well  discourage 
him  now  after  their  acquaintance  had  actually  be- 
gun. Indeed  she  did  not  know  exactly  how  to  set 
about  discouraging  him :  she  did  not  think  that  it 
would  be  at  all  easy.  She  wondered  if  it  were  his 
habit  to  become  intimate,  unintroduced,  with  any 
girl  he  chanced  to  find  in  a  garden.  Perhaps  more 
experienced  girls  knew  the  proper  process  of  snub- 
bing marquesses. 

She  wondered  much  at  his  solemnity,  whether  he 
were  always  as  solemn.  It  seemed  a  remarkable 
quality  in  so  young  a  man :  he  could  not  be  more 
than  twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight.  She  had  a  fan- 
cy that  he  was  not  always  so  solemn;  certainly  he 
was  not  solemn  when  he  smiled ;  it  was  a  delightful 
smile. 

In  the  end  she  made  up  her  mind  that  it  was 
very  unlikely  that  she  would  ever  meet  him  again. 
She  was  wrong.  Two  afternoons  later,  on  her  way 
home  from  the  Emporium,  she  did  meet  him  half- 
way down  Malkin  Lane.  He  was  coming  up  it  at  a 
brisk  pace,  as  if  he  were  hastening  on  the  most 
pressing  business  in  the  world. 

He  seemed  to  be  about  to  pass  her  without  recog- 
nizing her,  when  he  stopped  short,  his  solemn  face 
broke  into  its  charming  smile,  and  he  held  out  his 
hand,  saying :  "How  do  you  do,  Miss  Weston  ?  It 
is  a  piece  of  luck  chancing  on  you  like  this." 


28      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

It  might  have  been  due  to  luck;  it  might  also 
have  been  due  to  the  fact  that  for  the  last  half-hour 
the  Marquess  of  Drysdale  had  been  strolling  up  and 
down  the  bottom  of  Malkin  Lane.  Nancy,  unused 
to  the  ways  of  London  and  of  men,  did  not  suspect 
this. 

She  shook  hands  with  him,  shyly ;  and  he  turned 
and  walked  down  the  lane  with  her. 

"Has  Mr.  Rawnsley  been  working  you  very  hard 
to-day?"  he  said. 

"No,  I've  not  had  very  much  to  do,"  said 
Nancy. 

"Ah,  I  thought  you  were  looking  rather  pale.  It 
must  be  being  shut  up  in  an  office,"  said  the  Mar- 
quess. 

"I  don't  feel  pale,"  said  Nancy. 

"Perhaps  you  will  feel  it  presently,"  said  the 
Marquess. 

He  congratulated  her  on  the  weather  she  kept  in 
Chiswick,  asked  her  whether  she  had  finished  her 
book  and  how  she  liked  it;  and  they  came  round 
the  corner  and  along  the  Mall  to  the  big  wooden 
doors  which  led  to  Mr.  Rawnsley's  garage.  Nancy 
stopped  and  held  out  her  hand. 

The  Marquess  looked  at  it  with  evident  interest, 
but  he  did  not  take  it:  "That  paleness — don't  you 
think  a  little  walk — to  the  end  of  the  Mall?  Yes; 
I  think  a  little  walk  to  the  end  of  the  Mall." 

Nancy  stood  still,  hesitating. 


THE  HOUSH  ON  THE  MALL      29 

"It  would  do  me  good,  too,"  said  the  Marquess. 
"I've  been  working  like  a  nigger  all  day." 

"Well,  just  to  the  end  of  the  Mall.  I  have  to 
give  my  uncle  his  tea.  He  would  forget  all  about 
it  if  I  didn't ;  he  is  so  absent-minded,"  said  Nancy. 

They  walked  on  a  few  steps,  and  she  said :  "You 
say  you've  been  working  to-day.  I  thought  you 
didn't  like  work." 

"It  wasn't  really  work ;  it  was  politics.  They're 
my  game,  you  know,"  said  the  Marquess. 

"They  must  be  very  interesting,"  said  Nancy,  im- 
pressed. 

"Yes,  they're  great  fun — better  than  hunting. 
I'm  going  to  be  Prime  Minister  one  of  these 
days." 

Nancy  digested  the  information;  then  she  said, 
"You  look  as  though  you  were  a  very  good  politi- 
cian." 

The  Marquess  stopped  short  with  a  look  of  great 
dismay.  "I  hope  not,"  said  he  quickly. 

"Well,  you  look  so  very  serious  for  your  age," 
said  Nancy. 

"Oh,  that,"  said  the  Marquess  with  an  air  of  re- 
lief. "The  newspapers  expect  a  politician  to  look 
serious." 

"I  thought  it  couldn't  be  quite  real — all  of  it," 
said  Nancy. 

"What  ?"  said  the  Marquess. 

"Your  seriousness,"  said  Nancy. 


3o      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"Oh,  but  it  is.  I'm  a  very  serious  man  indeed," 
protested  the  Marquess. 

They  walked  on  a  few  paces  in  silence,  Nancy 
looking  at  the  sunlit  river,  the  Marquess  looking 
down  at  Nancy's  charming  face. 

Then  she  said,  "It  must  be  very  difficult  to  get  to 
be  Prime  Minister." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  Marquess,  airily.  "There 
was  once  a  young  nobleman,  a  mere  earl,  by  the 
way,  who  made  up  his  mind  to  be  Prime  Minister 
and  win  the  Derby — a  simple  taste,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"Very,"  said  Nancy. 

"Now  I'm  going  to  be  Prime  Minister  and  marry 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe,"  the  Marquess 
went  on ;  and  his  tone  was  almost  sepulchral. 

Nancy  was  aware  of  a  sudden  lack  of  interest  in 
the  ambitions  of  the  Marquess,  but  she  said  politely, 
"That  will  be  difficult  too,  won't  it?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no,"  said  the  Marquess.  "You  see  it's 
like  this :  first  there  are  the  princes  of  royal  blood ; 
they  have  to  marry  princesses.  That  puts  them  out 
of  my  way.  Then  there  are  the  dukes — we  need 
only  consider  the  English  dukes — they  are  either 
married  or  else  too  stupid  to  want  anything  much 
out  of  the  common.  I  know  them  all.  That  puts 
the  dukes  out  of  the  way  and  leaves  it  open  for  mar- 
quesses. Now  I  am  the  senior  unmarried  marquess 
of  England :  that  gives  me  first  claim.  So  you  see 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe  becomes  mine." 


THH  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      31 

He  was  looking  down  at  Nancy,  hard ;  but  Nancy 
was  looking  straight  ahead  of  her  with  her  brow 
knitted  in  a  faint  frown  as  she  followed  this  intri- 
cate matter :  "But  won't  you  find  it  very  difficult  to 
find  her  ?"  she  said. 

"Of  course  I  mean  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Europe  I  can  find,"  said  the  Marquess. 

"I  see,"  said  Nancy;  and  a  few  steps  further  on 
she  added :  "It  seems  rather  curious  to  marry  a 
woman,  just  because  she's  beautiful." 

"It's  the  custom  of  the  English  peerage,"  said 
the  Marquess.  "Consider  the  chorus  girl." 

"Of  course  there  is  that,"  said  Nancy,  thought- 
fully; "but  suppose  when  you  did  find  her  she 
wouldn't  marry  you?" 

Nancy,  looking  straight  in  front  of  her,  failed  to 
observe  that  the  eyes  of  the  Marquess  were  danc- 
ing, and  that  faint  smiles  played  about  the  corners 
of  his  mouth:  "It  is  impossible  to  suppose  that," 
he  said.  "In  matters  of  the  heart  we  must  always 
bear  in  mind  that  the  senior  unmarried  Marquess  of 
England  is  the  senior  unmarried  Marquess  of  Eng- 
land." 

Nancy  frowned  more  deeply  as  she  pondered  this 
state  of  affairs.  Then  she  said,  "But  suppose  she 
turned  out  to  be  a  princess  ?" 

"Now  you're  joking,"  said  the  Marquess;  and! 
he  laughed  heartily. 

His  laugh  was  loud  but  infectious;  and  Nancy 


32      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

laughed  too.  Plainly  the  Marquess  was  not  as  sol- 
emn as  he  looked. 

"And  how  are  you  going  to  find  her?"  she 
said. 

The  Marquess  said  that  the  discharge  of  his  po- 
litical duties  had  hitherto  prevented  him  from  be- 
ginning the  search;  and  the  discussion  of  different 
methods  brought  them  back  to  the  big  wooden 
doors. 

They  stopped,  and  the  Marquess  looked  at  Nancy 
very  solemnly  and  said :  "I  often  think  that  tea  is  a 
delicious  drink  especially  at  this  hour  of  the  after- 
noon. Indeed,  I  usually  have  it  at  this  hour.  Has 
it  ever  occurred  to  you  what  a  long  way  Chiswick 
is  from  tea?" 

"There  are  teashops  in  the  High  Road,"  said 
Nancy. 

"Would  you  condemn  me  to  a  teashop — in  the 
High  Road  ?"  said  the  Marquess  sadly. 

"There's — there's  Mr.  Rawnsley,"  said  Nancy. 

"Go  to  tea  with  Mr.  Rawnsley  without  an  invita- 
tion?" said  the  Marquess  in  a  tone  of  horror. 

Nancy  looked  at  him  a  little  helplessly.  She  could 
not  think  of  the  process  by  which  you  checked  a 
marquess  who  hinted  with  such  vigor  that  he  wished 
to  come  to  tea  with  you.  His  usual  solemnity  had 
become  a  preternatural  gloom. 

"Will  you  come  and  have  tea  with  us?"  she  said 
rather  faintly.  "Though  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 


THE  Housn  ON  THE  MALL    33 

what  my  uncle  will  be  like.    He  may  just  have  been 
inventing  something." 

"I  shall  be  charmed.    I  like  inventors,"  said  the 
Marquess,  opening  the  wooden  door  with  alacrity. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  DIVISION  OF  SPOILS 

AT  ten  o'clock  of  the  evening  of  the  2ist  of 
May,  three  men  sat  in  the  dining-room  of  1 1 
Malkin  Lane.  They  had  just  come  to  the 
end  of  their  dinner;  and  none  of  the  three  had  yet 
flicked  the  first  ash  off  his  cigar.  There  was  little  in 
the  appearance  of  the  three  to  account  for  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  room;  a  sense  of  danger  hung  on  it. 
Montague  Burge,  head  of  the  jewelry  department  of 
Rawnsle/s  Emporium,  a  hard-eyed,  hard-mouthed 
brute  of  forty,  was  merely  the  type  of  the  successful 
slave-driver  of  the  big,  modern  shop.  The  face  of 
that  well-known  man  about  town,  Mr.  Herbert 
Shore- Wardell,  with  the  little  nose  and  little  mouth 
in  the  middle  of  its  round,  florid  expanse,  was  the 
face  of  a  very  large,  but  rose-pink,  baby.  Colonel 
Claude  Webling,  late  of  the  Ottoman  army,  was 
indeed  a  man  of  a  different  stamp.  With  his  lean, 
bony  head,  his  big,  hooked,  predatory  nose  jutting 
out  from  his  narrow,  tanned  face,  he  looked  like  a 
vulture.  Yet  his  appearance  alone  was  not  enough 
to  account  for  that  atmosphere  of  danger;  it  was 

34 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      35 

diffused  from  the  three  of  them.  The  room  was 
sinister. 

The  empty  magnums,  two  on  the  sideboard,  one 
on  the  table,  were  evidence  that  they  had  dined 
wisely  and  too  well.  Yet  Montague  Burge  showed 
no  vinous  mellowing  (a  magnum  would  only  clear 
his  hard  head)  and  the  eyes  of  Colonel  Webling 
were  keen  and  alert ;  he  looked  as  sober  as  a  fasting 
vulture.  But  the  baby  face  of  Mr.  Herbert  Shore- 
Waddell  was  richly  crimson;  his  pale,  blue  eyes, 
always  shallow,  were  curiously  lack-lustre  and  emp- 
ty; and  his  drooping  cigar  was  but  insecurely  held 
between  his  lips.  Possibly  his  habit  of  looking  fre- 
quently on  the  whiskey  when  it  was  yellow,  as  he 
played  bridge  of  an  afternoon,  had  unfitted  him  for 
carrying  his  magnum  with  a  gentlemanly  ease. 

There  had  been  a  silence  for  two  or  three  min- 
utes, one  of  the  happy  silences  of  wise  men  reflect- 
ing on  good  food.  Montague  Burge  broke  it;  he 
said  in  a  rough,  unpleasant  voice,  which  even  an  ex- 
cellent dinner  had  not  smoothed : 

"And  now  for  a  little  business,  gentlemen." 

Colonel  Webling  turned  his  keen  eyes  on  him ;  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell's  lack-lustre  eyes  brightened  with  a 
faint  flicker  of  intelligence. 

"The  object  of  the  next  operation,  gentlemen,  is 
a  young  American,"  said  Montague  Burge.  "His 
name  is  Rupert  Christopher  Drayton.  He  will  ar- 
rive at  the  Savoy  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  this  month. 


36      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

He  could  have  brought  the  best  of  introductions 
from  the  States,  but  he  is  bringing  none.  He  has 
one  of  these  new-fangled  bees  in  his  bonnet,  Social 
Reform  or  some  such  idiocy,  and  he  is  going  to  see 
England  for  himself  on  the  quiet,  instead  of  mixing 
in  those  er — er  exalted  circles  his  money  entitles 
him  to  mix  in." 

"Some  kind  of  a  damned  radical,  I  suppose," 
said  Colonel  Webling  in  a  slow,  deep,  sonorous 
voice. 

"That's  it,  I  expect,"  said  Montague  Burge. 
"Well,  the  chief  has  other  views  for  him,  I  take  it, 
for  he  wishes  Shore- Wardell " 

In  a  flash  Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  eyes  were  quite 
intelligent:  "Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  call  me 
'Mister  Shore- Wardell,'  Burge?"  he  snapped  in  a 
high-pitched,  squeaky  voice  which  sounded  the 
squeakier  for  ite  contrast  to  the  rich  tones  of  Colonel 
Webling. 

"Certainly — certainly,  Mr.  Shore-Wardell — no 
offence  meant,  and  I  hope  none  taken,"  said  Mon- 
tague Burge  hastily. 

"Thatsh  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell ;  and 
in  waving  his  hand  in  a  dignified  gesture,  he  lost  his 
support,  lurched  forward  and  would  have  buried  his 
nose  in  the  dish  of  almonds  and  raisins  before  him, 
had  not  the  right  arm  of  Colonel  Webling  shot  out 
and  straightened  him  in  his  seat.  With  a  grunt  he 
dropped  on  to  the  support  of  his  arms  again,  and  de- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      37 

plored  squeakily  the  slipperiness  of  the  chair  in 
which  he  was  sitting. 

Montague  Burge  had  paused  for  the  restoration 
of  the  status  quo  ante  of  Mr.  Shore-Wardell,  and 
when  he  was  silent,  he  said : 

"Well,  the  Chief  wishes  you  two  gentlemen  to 
show  this  young  chap  England,  whether  he  wants 
you  to  or  not.  You  make  his  acquaintance  at  the 
Savoy."  Here  he  drew  a  note-book  from  his  pocket 
and  consulted  it.  "The  Chief  suggests  an  opening 
to  you.  This  young  Drayton  is  connected  with  the 
Dorset  Draytons — one  of  them  emigrated  to  the 
States  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago— and 
you  might  work  that  opening." 

"The  Chief  does  think  of  things,"  said  Colonel 
Webling. 

"What  was  the  young  fellow's  fathersh  name?" 
said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell.  "If  he  wash  a  Dorset 
Drayton,  it  musht  have  been  something  Christopher 
— they're  all  shomething  Christopher." 

"I  don't  know:  the  Chief  didn't  tell  me,"  said 
Montague  Burge,  again  looking  at  his  note-book. 
"Drayton's  not  at  all  cocky  about  his  family,  only 
interested  in  it." 

"Impudent  dog — good  English  blood  like  that 
and  not  cocky  about  it.  The  fellow's  a  snob,"  said 
Mr.  Shore-Wardell  indignantly. 

"Those  are  all  the  Chief's  instructions  for  the 
present.  As  soon  as  you  have  got  friendly  with 


38      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Drayton,  the  Chief  will  see  the  Colonel  and  tell  him 
what  he  wants  doing.  In  the  meantime  here's  Dray- 
ton's  photo,"  said  Montague  Burge. 

He  took  a  photograph  from  his  pocket  and  hand- 
ed it  across  the  table  to  Colonel  Webling.  The 
Colonel  looked  at  it  carefully  and  saw  the  face  of 
a  young  man  of  twenty-eight,  a  face  of  a  type  grow- 
ing more  and  more  common  in  the  States  every 
year,  almost  a  Roman  type,  recalling  to  the  mind  the 
busts  of  the  twelve  Caesars,  no  one  of  them  indeed, 
rather  a  composite  of  half-a-dozen  of  them.  The 
face  was  between  square  and  round,  the  forehead 
broad,  the  brows  level  and  a  little  projecting;  the 
eyes  were  deep-set  and  large.  They  looked  out  of 
the  portrait  with  a  keen,  frank  gaze.  The  nose  was 
clean-cut,  straight,  and  a  trifle  thick;  the  lips  were 
firm  and  rather  thin,  the  chin  square,  the  line  of  the 
jaw  clean.  It  was  the  strong,  self-reliant  face  of  a 
man  who  trusts  himself  and  can  be  trusted. 

"He'll  give  plenty  of  trouble,  if  once  he  tumbles 
to  our  game,"  said  Colonel  Webling  carelessly,  put- 
ting the  photograph  into  his  pocket.  "I'll  take 
care  of  it  and  show  it  to  Shore-Wardell  to-morrow 
— no  use  now." 

There  was  something  un-English  in  his  sonorous 
speech,  not  in  the  accent  but  in  the  manner  of  his 
speaking.  The  English  words  seemed  to  come  stiff- 
ly off  his  tongue,  as  though  it  had  grown  used  to 
another  language  and  disused  to  them. 


THE  HOUSH  ON  THE  MALL      39 

"Right.  And  now,  gentlemen,  I  have  a  pleasanter 
piece  of  business  still,"  said  Montague  Burge,  sud- 
denly washing  his  hands  in  the  invisible  soap  and 
water  of  the  shop- walker.  "Lady  Aldington's  jew- 
els have  been  sold ;  and  I  can  now  hand  over  to  you 
your  shares  of  the  proceeds." 

The  intelligence,  all  the  intelligence  they  ever 
showed,  came  back  to  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell.  Montague  Burge  went  to  a  bureau,  which 
stood  against  the  end  wall  of  the  room,  took  from  a 
drawer  two  bulky  envelopes,  came  back  to  the  table, 
and  sat  down  again. 

"I  managed  to  sell  the  jewels  better  than  I  ex- 
pected. Your  share  comes  to  fifteen  hundred 
pounds,  Colonel,  and  yours  to  a  thousand,  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell,"  he  said.  "It's  all  in  fivers,  ten- 
ners and  twenties." 

He  tossed  one  of  the  envelopes  across  the  table 
to  Colonel  Webling,  and  the  other  to  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell,  with  an  air  of  splendid  patronage.  Neither 
of  them  missed  that  air ;  but  neither  of  them  paused 
to  resent  it.  For  two  or  three  minutes  there  was 
no  sound  but  the  rustling  of  the  banknotes  they 
were  counting.  The  baby  face  of  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell  was  alive  with  an  expression  of  extraordinary 
greed.  Under  the  influence  of  that  emotion  his  very 
muscles  had  tautened ;  he  no  longer  needed  the  sup- 
port of  his  arms ;  greed  had  sobered  him. 

He  finished  counting  the  notes,  put  them  into  his 


4o      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

pocket,  then  leaned,  frowning,  towards  Montague 
Burge,  and  cried,  or  rather  squeaked,  in  his  queru- 
lous, high-pitched  voice:  "This  won't  do,  Burge! 
This  won't  do !  Those  jewels  are  worth  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds — every  penny  of  thirty  thousand 
pounds.  I  must  have  more  than  a  thousand  for  my 
share — a  good  deal  more  than  a  thousand." 

Colonel  Webling  bent  forward  and  took  another 
cigar  from  the  box  in  front  of  him. 

"Jewels  worth  thirty  thousand  in  the  open  mar- 
ket are  not  worth  seven  thousand  when  you  have  to 
sell  them  on  the  quiet,"  cried  Montague  Burge,  with 
the  angry  contempt  of  an  expert  who  hears  a  fool- 
ish statement  on  his  subject. 

Colonel  Webling  cut  the  end  off  his  cigar. 

"Don't  tell  me!"  cried  Mr.  Shore- Wardell. 
"What  share  do  you  get?  What  share  does  the 
chief  get?" 

Colonel  Webling  nipped  the  gold  band  off  the 
cigar. 

"I  get  the  same  as  you ;  and  I  have  all  the  danger 
of  hawking  about  the  Continent  thirty  thousand 
pounds  worth  of  jewels,  of  which  every  dealer  has 
had  the  exact  description  from  the  police,"  cried 
Montague  Burge. 

Colonel  Webling  had  lighted  his  cigar ;  he  leaned 
back,  savoring  its  flavor,  and  watched  the  wranglers 
with  half-closed  eyes,  very  like  a  sleepy,  uninterest- 
ed vulture. 


THB  HOUSH  ON  THE  MALL      41 

"And  what  does  the  Chief  get  for  sitting-  quietly 
at  home  and  doing  nothing?"  cried  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell. 

"Doing  nothing?  What  do  you  call  doing  noth- 
ing? Where  should  we  be  without  the  Chief  ?  Who 
thought  of  the  Aldington  jewels?  Who  made  the 
plan  for  getting  them?  Why  everything  was  his 
idea — he  chose  the  three  of  you;  he  chose  the  dis- 
guises; he  fixed  the  hour  to  try  for  the  jewels;  he 
got  Rutland  Gate  free  of  police  for  you,"  cried  Mon- 
tague Burge  as  his  anger  grew. 

"What's  that  to  driving  a  kidnapped  peeress  with 
thirty  thousand  pounds  worth  of  jewels  on  her 
twenty-five  miles  in  a  stolen  motor  brougham,  as  I 
did?"  cried  Mr.  Shore- Wardell.  "What  does  the 
Chief  get?  Out  with  it!" 

Montague  Burge  hesitated,  then  he  said:  "The 
Chief  hasn't  got  anything  yet.  I  get  him  money 
when  he  wires  that  he's  sending  for  it.  His  share 
is  two  thousand." 

"Two  thousand!  Two!  Monstrous!  Oh,  we 
must  have  some  of  that  two  thousand — a  thousand 
of  it — yes,  a  thousand,"  cried  Mr.  Shore-Wardell. 
"Hand  it  over." 

"You  don't  suppose  I've  got  it  in  the  house.  I 
know  too  much  about  my  company,"  sneered  Mon- 
tague Burge.  "The  money's  in  the  bank." 

"What  does  that  matter?  You  can  write  us 
cheques,"  said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell. 


42      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"Not  me,"  said  Montague  Burge. 

"Then  we'll  make  you.  Won't  we,  Colonel?" 
cried  Mr.  Shore- Wardell. 

Colonel  Webling  breathed  out  a  cloud  of  cigar 
smoke,  shook  his  head,  and  said  curtly,  "I  won't. 
You've  been  well  paid  for  your  night's  work — four 
hours  was  all  we  spent  on  it.  What  does  it  matter 
how  much  anybody  else  gets  ?" 

"Fair's  fair,  Colonel  Webling.  We  should  share 
and  share  ajike.  We  ran  all  the  risks,"  cried  Mr. 
Shore-Wardell. 

His  voice  came  squeaking  out  of  a  crimson  mask 
of  greed. 

"Nonsense !  Why  should  the  Chief  run  any  risk  ? 
Generals  don't  run  risks.  Where  would  armies  be, 
if  they  did?  You've  got  plenty,"  said  Colonel  Web- 
ling. 

"Yes,  yes ;  there  was  weeks  of  work  in  that  plan. 
And  you're  not  the  only  people  to  be  paid.  There 
was  getting  the  police  out  of  Rutland  Gate ;  I  don't 
know  who  did  it,  or  how  it  was  done,  but  you  bet 
it  cost  money;  and  the  Chief  pays  for  that  himself. 
And  the  footman  who  always  sits  beside  Lady  Ald- 
ington's chauffeur;  you  don't  suppose  it  cost  noth- 
ing to  get  him  away.  The  Chief  pays  for  that,  too," 
said  Montague  Burge. 

"Fifty  pounds  would  cover  all  those  little  jobs," 
said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell. 

"Not  it,"  said  Montague  Burge. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      43 

"And  why  should  Colonel  Webling  have  fifteen 
hundred  and  I  only  a  thousand?  I  ran  just  the 
same  risk  as  he,"  cried  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  more 
shrilly  than  ever. 

"That  was  the  Chief's  arrangement.  He  said  the 
money  was  to  be  divided  like  that  because  the  Col- 
onel was  in  charge  of  the  enterprise.  If  you  don't 
like  it,  you  can  talk  to  the  Chief  about  it,"  said  Mon- 
tague Burge. 

The  Colonel  laughed  a  short,  barking  laugh :  "If 
I  hadn't  been  there,  the  jewels  would  have  been  in 
Lord  Aldington's  safe,  and  you  and  that  prize- 
fighter fellow — what's  his  name?  Billson — would 
be  in  prison,"  he  said.  "You  were  wobbly,  Shore- 
Wardell — devilish  wobbly;  and  Billson  would  have 
tried  to  pull  the  chauffeur  off  his  seat  from  the 
wrong  side  of  the  brougham — the  fool!  Besides, 
the  leader  always  gets  a  larger  share  of  the  loot 
than  his  men — always — it's  the  rule." 

"Yes,  yes;  what's  the  good  of  haggling?  After 
all  you  were  told  you  would  get  eight  hundred,  and 
you  get  a  thousand.  What  are  you  grumbling 
about?"  said  Montague  Burge. 

"It's  the  unfairness,"  muttered  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell;  and  he  seemed  to  fall  into  a  profound  reflec- 
tion, his  eyes  still  bright  with  greed. 

Montague  Burge  rose,  took  a  bottle  of  brandy 
and  a  syphon  from  the  sideboard,  and  set  them  on 
the  table.  They  filled  their  glasses  and  fell  to  talk- 


44      THH  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

ing  peacefully.  Montague  Burge  and  Colonel  Web- 
ling  drank  freely ;  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  seemed  to  be 
in  an  ascetic  mood,  he  helped  himself  to  soda  out  of 
all  proportion  to  the  brandy  in  his  glass.  He  took 
but  little  share  in  the  animated  talk  of  his  two  com- 
panions ;  indeed,  now  and  again,  some  question  from 
them  showed  that  he  had  not  been  listening  to  it. 
He  seemed  absorbed  in  some  train  of  thought  of  his 
own;  but  every  now  and  then  he  looked  sharply  at 
the  brandy  bottle,  as  if  he  were  marking  how  liquor 
sank  in  it. 

The  brandy  had  sunk  half-way  down  the  bottle 
when  of  a  sudden  he  joined  in  the  talk  with  a 
cheerful  affability.  It  was  under  his  guidance  that 
it  came  back  to  the  subject  of  the  Aldington 
emeralds. 

Presently  he  said  carelessly,  "I  suppose  you  just 
give  the  Chief  a  cheque  for  his  share,  Burge  ?  You 
don't  bother  about  getting  twenties  and  tenners  for 
him?" 

Montague  Burge  hesitated,  then  he  said :  "Not 
much.  The  Chief  will  get  his  two  thousand  in 
fivers — four  hundred  fivers.  There  never  was  any- 
one so  careful  as  the  Chief." 

"Then  I'll  bet  that  he  doesn't  come  tor  them  on 
foot.  Does  he  come  in  a  motor  car?"  said  Mr. 
Shore- War  dell. 

Montague  Burge  hesitated  again:  "You  don't 
suppose  the  Chief  comes  for  them  himself.  The 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL      45 

notes  pass  through  three  hands  before  the  Chief 
gets  them.  I  get  them  from  the  bank.  Three 
evenings  later  the  secretary  of  a  friend  of  the  Chiefs 
comes  to  me  for  them ;  and  his  employer  hands  them 
on  to  the  Chief.  No  one  could  ever  prove  that  the 
Chief  had  one  of  them  from  me.  And  I'll  bet  that 
most  of  those  fivers  are  changed  into  gold  before 
they're  paid  into  his  bank.  Oh,  there's  no  catching 
the  Chief!" 

The  brandy  indeed  seemed  to  have  loosened  Mon- 
tague Burge's  tongue.  It  was  not  often  that  it 
wagged  so  freely. 

"What's  the  secretary  like?"  said  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  in  the  affable  tone  of  one  making  polite 
conversation. 

"Oh,  a  fair-haired  young  fellow — with  a  fair 
mustache,"  said  Montague  Burge. 

"Then  if  I  saw  a  fair-haired  young  fellow,  with 
a  fair  mustache  coming  out  of  your  office  at 
Rawnsley's  Emporium,  carrying  a  neat,  square 
package,  I  should  know  that  he  had  four  hundred 
five-pound  notes  on  him,"  said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell 
and  he  chuckled. 

"Yes,  if  you  saw  him  come  out  of  my  office  at 
Rawnsley's,"  said  Montague  Burge  cautiously. 

"Ah,  he  comes  here,  does  he?"  said  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  sharply. 

"I  never  said  so.  You  want  to  know  too  much. 
Money — that  kind  of  money  doesn't  bear  too  much 


46      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

talking  about,"  said  Montague  Burge  in  the  tone  of 
irritation  of  a  man  who  has  said  too  much. 

"Curiosity — idle  curiosity,"  said  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell  with  a  careless  wave  of  the  hands;  and  he 
emptied  his  glass  and  rose. 

"You're  not  going?"  said  Montague  Burge,  with 
no  great  heartiness. 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  be  off — get  in  a  rubber  or  two 
before  I  go  to  bed — make  me  sleep  better,"  said  Mr. 
Shore-Wardell. 

Montague  Burge  did  not  press  him  to  stay.  He 
went  out  into  the  hall  with  him,  found  his  hat  and 
stick  for  him,  and  let  him  out  of  the  house. 

He  came  back  to  the  dining-room  frowning: 
"There's  no  satisfying  that  fellow,"  he  said.  "If  it 
had  been  ten  thousand,  he'd  have  asked  for  more." 

"He  would,"  said  Colonel  Webling.  "And  one 
of  these  days  he'll  try  to  play  us  some  dirty  trick." 

"Yes;  it's  a  pity  he's  so  useful.  You  see,  we 
really  got  Lady  Aldington's  habits  from  him." 

"It  was  odd  how  his  greediness  sobered  him.  I'm 
hanged  if  it  wasn't  like  a  cold  plunge  to  him.  But 
he  needs  watching." 

"And  he'll  be  watched  all  right,"  said  Montague 
Burge ;  and  he  rose  and  opened  the  door  to  freshen 
the  air  of  the  room. 

"Of  course  at  this  game  you  have  to  take  what 
you  can  get  at  in  the  way  of  assistants.  That  prize- 
fighter fellow — he's  an  awkward  brute  to  have  to 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THH  MALL      47 

deal  with.  I'm  glad  he  didn't  get  the  chance  of  see- 
ing my  face  the  other  night,"  said  Colonel  Web- 
ling. 

"Billson  has  an  awkward  temper.  His  friends 
say  that  out  of  the  ring  he  can't  keep  it  for  twenty 
minutes  on  end.  If  he'd  only  the  sense  to  keep 
straight  and  train,  he  could  be  champion  of  the 
world.  But  no  one  will  train  him  now.  At  the  end 
of  a  fortnight  he  bashes  his  trainer  and  goes  off  on 
the  drink.  He  takes  a  lot  of  managing.  It's  an  in- 
fernal nuisance  having  to  work  with  such  cattle," 
said  Montague  Burge  with  a  lowering  face. 

"He's  been  in  a  good  many  things,"  said  Colonel 
Webling,  watching  him. 

"Too  many.  Fortunately  he's  a  sulky  drinker, 
or  he'd  have  started  bragging  about  one  of  them 
and  made  no  end  of  trouble " 

"For  himself.  He's  never  seen  my  face;  and  I 
always  have  an  alibi — a  very  sound  alibi." 

"He's  seen  mine,"  said  Montague  Burge. 

"Well  I  shall  be  very  pleased  to  knock  the  in- 
subordinate dog  on  the  head  whenever  the  Chief 
wants  it  doing — for  a  consideration  of  course,"  said 
Colonel  Webling,  smiling  pleasantly. 
"About  a  couple  of  hundred  ?" 

"Three,"  said  Colonel  Webling. 

"I'll  let  the  Chief  know." 

Colonel  Webling  mixed  himself  another  brandy 
and  soda,  sipped  it,  and  said:  "Why  did  you  tell 


48      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Shore-Wardell  that  yarn  about  the  Chief  and  the 
fivers?  I'm  hanged  if  he  didn't  swallow  it!" 

"The  Chief's  instructions  are  that  I'm  never  to 
refuse  information  to  any  of  you.  I'm  always  to 
be  ready  with  plenty  as  long  as  it's  wrong,"  said 
Montague  Burge. 

"Mauleverer's  a  very  clever  man.  I'm  glad  I  met 
him,"  said  Colonel  Webling  in  a  tone  of  profound 
satisfaction. 

"I've  never  set  eyes  on  him,"  said  Montague 
Burge. 

"The  deuce  you  haven't !"  said  Colonel  Webling. 


CHAPTER  V 
AT  RAWNSLEY/S  EMPORIUM 

MR.  RAWNSLEY,  founder  and  proprietor 
of  Rawnsley's,  was  at  work  next  morning 
in  his  comfortable,  even  luxurious,  pan- 
elled office  in  the  heart  of  the  Emporium.  He  was  a 
venerable  man  of  from  fifty-five  to  sixty;  indeed 
there  were  few  men  in  London  of  a  more  venerable 
air.  His  abundant,  silky,  white  hair  was  long,  and 
his  long,  flowing  white  beard  spread  out  widely 
over  his  chest.  But  his  venerable  face  was  by  no 
means  a  weak  one:  the  lips,  though  rather  thick, 
were  firm ;  his  eyes  were  keen ;  and  his  Roman  nose 
was  full  of  character.  He  had  a  more  kindly  ex- 
pression than  is  common  in  men  who  have  built  up 
a  big  business;  but  that  was  all  the  weakness  that 
showed  in  him.  That  morning  he  had  interviewed 
such  of  his- chiefs  of  departments  as  had  wished  to 
consult  him,  and  was  now  leisurely  dictating  to 
Nancy  Weston  answers  to  the  few  letters  with 
which  those  heads  of  departments  had  been  unable 
to  deal. 

As  she  sat  at  her  desk  taking  down  the  letters  in 

49 


50      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

shorthand,  her  face  was  composed  and  grave  as  be- 
fitted one  engaged  in  a  serious  task.  But  now  and 
again  it  broke  into  a  ravishing  smile  at  some  jest 
of  her  employer's;  for  no  matter  how  difficult  or 
important  the  business  with  which  he  was  dealing, 
Mr.  Rawnsley  would  have  his  joke.  His  lawyer, 
an  uncommonly  shrewd  man,  ascribed  much  of  his 
success  in  business  to  the  fact  that  no  rival  had  ever 
been  able  to  disturb  his  imperturbable  good  humor. 

He  had  just  finished  dictating  a  letter  when  there 
came  a  knock  at  the  door  and  Montague  Burge  en- 
tered. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Burge.  Type  those  letters 
out,  Miss  Weston ;  and  when  I've  finished  with  Mr. 
Burge  come  back  and  take  some  more,"  said  Mr. 
Rawnsley. 

Nancy  rose  and  left  the  room,  careful  not  to  meet 
the  discomfiting  eyes  of  Montague  Burge.  He  al- 
ways looked  at  her  as  if  he  were  burning  to  devour 
her. 

The  door  closed  behind  her;  and  Mr.  Rawnsley 
said  in  a  rich,  melodious  voice :  "Well,  did  you  pay 
your  fellow  conspirators  all  right?" 

"Yes;  I  gave  them  their  money,"  said  Montague 
Burge,  not  very  cheerfully. 

"Then  that  affair's  closed,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley 
quite  cheerfully. 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  Shore-Wardell  grum- 
bled a  good  deal.  He  said  that  the  Chief  was  get- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL      51 

ting  more  than  his  share,  since  we  had  run  all  the 
risks,  while  he  sat  quietly  at  home." 

"Gay  but  greedy — Shore-Wardell.  What  risk 
does  the  idiot  think  he  ran?  The  Chief  gets  his 
two  thousand  for  making  it  perfectly  safe  for  Shore- 
Wardell  to  kidnap  Lady  Aldington  and  strip  her  of 
her  jewels.  When  the  Chief  had  done  his  work, 
three  schoolboys  could  have  done  the  rest — if  they'd 
had  the  muscle  and  one  of  them  could  have  driven  a 
motor  brougham,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley,  contemptu- 
ously. "Point  that  out  to  the  greedy  idiot  next  time 
you  see  him." 

"I  did  point  it  out  to  him,  or  at  least  something 
very  like  it.  But  he  wasn't  satisfied.  It's  my  idea 
that  he  means  mischief." 

"It's  one  thing  to  mean  mischief  and  quite  an- 
other to  be  able  to  do  it.  What  does  he  think  he  can 
do?"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley  carelessly. 

"I  don't  know.  But  I'm  sure  he  had  some  idea 
in  his  head;  and  I  think  the  Chief  ought  to  be 
told.  Shore- Wardell's  a  much  cleverer  man  than 
he  looks,"  said  Montague  Burge,  frowning. 

"He  wouldn't  be  of  any  use  to  the  Chief  if  he 
weren't,  because  he  wouldn't  know  exactly  what  to 
find  out  for  him.  But  I'll  certainly  tell  the  Chief 
what  you  say,  for  I  have  a  great  belief  in  your  judg- 
ment," said  Mr.  Rawnsley,  who  never  lost  a  chance 
of  showing  his  appreciation  of  his  lieutenants.  "Was 
Colonel  Webling  satisfied?" 


52      THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

"Quite.  He  looked  at  it  that  he  had  got  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  for  four  hour's  work." 

"A  very  honest  man  the  Colonel  in  spite  of  that 
utter  disregard  of  the  rights  of  property  and  human 
life  which  he  acquired  in  the  service  of  the  Sultan. 
I  should  say  that  his  word  was  every  bit  as  good 
as  his  bond,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley  warmly. 

"And  he's  ready  to  knock  Billson  on  the  head  for 
three  hundred  whenever  the  Chief  wants  it  doing," 
said  Montague  Burge.  "He  doesn't  like  Billson." 

"Capital !  Capital !"  cried  Mr.  Rawnsley.  "Thor- 
ough— absolutely  thorough."  And  he  laughed  a 
rich,  ringing  laugh. 

He  rose  and,  going  to  the  safe  in  the  corner, 
brought  from  it  two  emerald  tiaras  and  two  emerald 
necklaces  and  set  them  on  his  desk:  "The  Chief's 
idea  of  letting  the  police  photograph  our  replicas 
of  the  Aldington  tiara  and  necklace  when  they  were 
searching  for  the  stolen  ones,  and  the  exhibiting  the 
replicas  in  our  Bond  Street  branch,  has  worked 
again,"  he  said. 

"We  never  had  such  an  advertisement,"  said 
Montague  Burge,  with  enthusiasm. 

"No;  the  trouble  the  police  had  with  the  crowds 
who  came  to  look  at  them  kept  forcing  the  papers  to 
talk  about  them ;  and  of  course  the  American  papers 
had  to  take  it  up,  so  that  now  I've  got  an  order 
from  a  Pittsburg  millionaire  of  the  name  of  Mallet 
for  a  third  Aldington  necklace  and  tiara." 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      53 

"Good,"  said  Montague  Burge. 

"If  we'd  had  it  earlier,  we  could  have  distributed 
the  actual  Aldington  emeralds  among  three  tiaras 
and  three  necklaces  instead  of  between  these  two 
sets,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley. 

"It  wouldn't  do  to  run  your  motor  car  over  these 
four  pieces  as  you  ran  it  over  the  first  two  and  smash 
up  the  settings  again.  Our  jewelers  might  think  a 
double  accident  suspicious,"  said  Montague  Burge, 
doubtfully. 

"I  should  think  they  would!"  cried  Mr.  Rawns- 
ley  impatiently.  "No,  no ;  these  two  sets  will  go  to 
their  purchasers  as  they  are.  The  police  are  never 
likely  to  hear  that  the  Rajah  has  replicas  of  the  Ald- 
ington jewels.  At  any  rate  they  won't  learn  it  for 
a  good  long  while ;  and  by  that  time  our  purchases  of 
emeralds  will  have  so  confused  things  that  there'll 
be  no  tracing  anything,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fact 
that  I'm  going  to  have  a  fire  and  get  our  books 
burnt.  But  what  I  want  to  know  is  about  the  emer- 
alds in  the  ear-rings ;  can  they  be  used  in  this  third 
tiara  and  necklace  ?" 

"Two  of  the  four  have  been  used  already,"  said 
Montague  Burge,  taking  up  a  tiara  and  running 
his  eye  over  it.  "Let's  see;  here's  one  of  them." 
He  laid  his  finger  on  one  of  the  emeralds  in  the  top 
row  of  the  tiara.  Then  he  picked  up  the  other  tiara, 
ran  his  eye  over  it,  set  it  down,  picked  up  one  of  the 
necklaces  and  looked  at  it,  laid  his  finger  on  the 


54      'THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

third  emerald  to  the  right  of  the  centre  stone,  and 
said,  "Here's  the  other." 

"Burge,  you're  a  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Rawns- 
ley. 

"Well,  every  emerald  is  different  from  every 
other  emerald  and  every  diamond  or  ruby  from 
every  other  diamond  or  ruby.  If  I've  seen  a  stone 
once,  I  remember  it.  It's  a  knack,"  said  Montague 
Burge. 

"It's  genius,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley. 

"No ;  I  can't  help  remembering  them,"  said  Mon- 
tague Burge,  a  little  puzzled. 

<fWell,  well;  I  always  employ  men  of  genius,  in 
their  departments ;  that's  how  I've  got  on,"  said  Mr. 
Rawnsley,  cheerfully.  "Then  I'm  to  understand 
that  we  start  this  third  set  four  fine  stones  to  the 
good." 

"Yes,  that's  it.  They're  worth  three  thousand  or 
close  on  it,"  said  Montague  Burge. 

"Well,  we  shall  get  a  hundred  thousand  guineas 
for  these  three  sets — thanks  to  the  advertisement 
the  world's  press  has  given  us.  Fifty  thousand  we 
spend  on  stones  for  them ;  the  Aldington's  provide 
us  gratis  with  another  twenty-five  thousand  pounds 
worth  of  stones,  so  we  clear  nearly  fifty  thousand 
on  the  transaction.  It's  very  satisfactory — very. 
Your  share  will  be  at  least  five  thousand." 

"Yes,  guineas,"  said  Montague  Burge,  in  a  tone 
of  deep  satisfaction. 


THB  HOUSH  ON  THE  MALL       55 

"Well,  in  buying  the  emeralds  for  this  third  set, 
I  want  you  to  get  them  from  fresh  dealers." 

"As  far  as  it's  possible,  I  will,"  said  Montague 
Burge.  "And  how  would  it  be  when  I'm  about  it 
to  pick  up  any  duplicates  I  can?  We  may  get  an 
order  for  another  set." 

"You're  quite  right.  One  millionaire  always  leads 
to  another.  If  we  don't,  this  affair  will  make  emer- 
alds the  rage,  and  we  shall  do  well  out  of  them.  Be- 
sides, the  more  we  buy,  the  more  it  will  add  to  the 
confusion,  if  the  police  should  ever  try  to  work  out 
our  purchases  of  emeralds,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley. 

"There's  no  fear  of  their  getting  on  to  it,"  said 
Montague  Burge,  confidently. 

"Very  little;  and  certainly  no  signs  of  it  so  far. 
They've  got  it  into  their  heads  that  a  gang  of 
American  crooks  stole  the  Aldington  jewels.  We 
shan't  point  out  to  them  that  all  the  business  intel- 
ligence is  not  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  The 
Chief  suggests  that  I  should  send  a  note  round  the 
papers  saying  that  we  have  already  sold  three  rep- 
licas of  the  Aldington  jewels ;  and  I  will." 

"The  Chief's  a  wonder,"  said  Montague  Burge. 
"I  hope  he'll  soon  hit  on  another  plan." 

"You'll  be  pleased  to  hear  that  the  Chief  is  de- 
voting his  time  to  the  study  of  the  important  jewels 
belonging  to  all  the  great  families  in  England.  We 
shall  soon  be  making  some  more  replicas,"  said  Mr. 
Rawnsley  cheerfully. 


56      THE  HOUSH  ON  THE  MALL 

"Well,  I'll  be  getting  down  to  Hatton  Garden. 
I  bought  nearly  all  the  first  lot  of  emeralds  abroad, 
of  course ;  and  I  nearly  cleared  the  Dutch  and  Ham- 
burg markets  of  all  the  stones  of  the  sizes  we  want- 
ed. So  we  may  as  well  give  England  a  turn." 

"Certainly,  certainly;  let's  be  patriots  this  time," 
said  Mr.  Rawnsley,  with  a  cheery  laugh. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MONTAGUE  BURGE  SPOILS  HIS  OWN  GAME 

MONTAGUE  BURGE  stepped  into  the  outer 
office,  shut  the  door  quietly  behind  him, 
and  stood  still,  gazing  at  Nancy  Weston  at 
her  desk.  Nancy  did  not  look  up  from  her  type- 
writer. It  was  possible  that  she  had  not  seen  him 
enter.  He  gazed  at  her,  frowning,  hesitating,  nerv- 
ous. He  was  angry  with  her  for  making  him  feel 
nervous ;  and  he  was  angry  with  himself  for  feeling 
nervous. 

He  bit  his  lip,  and  said  in  tones  half  cajoling,  half 
threatening:  "Look  here,  are  you  coming  out  to 
dinner  with  me  to-night,  or  aren't  you?  It's  your 
last  chance." 

There  was  no  change  in  Nancy's  face.  She  went 
on  with  her  work,  absorbed  in  it,  her  brow  knitted 
in  a  faint  frown  of  earnestness.  It  was  plain  that 
she  had  not  heard  him.  Yet,  unless  she  had  been 
afflicted  suddenly  with  deafness,  she  could  not  have 
failed  to  hear  him. 

He  made  three  quick  steps  towards  her,  then 
stood  still  again,  flushed  and  scowling. 

57 


58      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"You  little  devil!  What  you  want  is  a  lesson!" 
he  said  thickly.  "There  isn't  another  girl  in  the 

building  who'd  dare You've  got  to  learn  to  be 

civil — very  civil  to  a  partner  in  the  firm  you  work 
for.  If  you're  not  careful  you'll  get  that  lesson 
sooner  than  you  think — much  sooner." 

Nancy  threw  back  her  head  to  shake  away  a  little 
curl  which  had  strayed  from  its  place  and  was  tick- 
ling the  corner  of  her  eye.  It  was  the  prettiest 
movement;  and  it  sent  a  thrill  through  Montague 
Burge. 

Then  she  took  from  the  machine  the  letter  she 
had  just  finished,  put  in  another  sheet  of  paper,  and 
fell  again  to  her  swift  tapping.  It  was  plain  that 
she  had  been  stricken  with  a  sudden  deafness  and 
blindness;  that  even  yet  she  had  not  heard  the 
voice  of  Montague  Burge,  that  she  had  not  even 
seen  him.  Nancy  may  have  been  ignorant  of  the 
proper  process  of  checking  marquesses,  but  she 
knew  how  to  check  the  Montague  Burges  of  this 
world. 

He  stood  trembling  a  little,  moving  his  rigid 
fingers  backwards  and  forwards,  grinding  his  teeth 
softly.  He  was  unused  to  this  long  opposition  from 
a  girl  in  Rawnsley's.  He  was  unused  to  any  strong 
opposition;  it  was  years  since  anyone  had  really 
opposed  him. 

His  spirit  was  raw  with  the  chafing  of  anger  and 
thwarted  desire;  he  could  have  boxed  her  pretty 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      59 

ears  and  shaken  the  pride  out  of  her,  joyfully.  But 
there  were  a  dozen  clerks  in  the  next  office;  and 
he  had  to  restrain  himself.  The  effort  shook  him; 
her  figure  danced  for  a  moment  before  his  eyes  in 
a  red  haze  and  a  little  foam  flowed  out  upon  his 
lips. 

Then  came  the  outburst,  hoarse  and  furious : 

"All  right!  All  right!  I'm  fed  up  with  your 
side — fed  up  with  it!"  he  cried.  "Swank — pure 
swank !  And  you'll  come  it  over  me,  will  you  ?  I'm 
going  to  change  your  tune.  I'm  going  to  make 
you  laugh  on  the  other  side  of  your  mouth. 
You  silly  little  fool — you  run  straight  into  my 
little  trap;  and  then  you  give  yourself  airs  like 
this.  I'm  going  to  give  you  that  lesson  now — 
right  away!" 

He  stood  for  a  moment  longer  to  see  whether 
she  would  respond  to  the  spur  of  fear.  Nancy's 
fingers  tapped  swiftly  on ;  her  eyes  were  glued  to  the 
shorthand  notes  she  was  copying.  With  an  oath 
he  went  to  the  door  in  quick,  jerky  steps,  flung  out 
of  it  and  slammed  it.  He  hurried  through  the  next 
two  offices;  and  when  he  had  passed,  the  joyful 
clerks  cried  to  one  another  that  he  had  been  getting 
"told  off"  by  the  old  man. 

But  Montague  Burge  was  not  considering  ap- 
pearances ;  he  was  not  considering  anything ;  he  was 
one  burning  frenzy  to  trample  and  crush.  It  was 
faintly  present  in  his  mind  that  as  a  boy  he  had 


6o      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

greatly  enjoyed  stamping  on  any  butterfly  he  caught. 
...  He  would  stamp  on  this  butterfly.  .  .  .  He 
had  caught  her  all  right.  .  .  .  The  little  fool  had 
flown  bang  into  the  net.  .  .  .  He'd  stamp  on  her. 
.  .  .  He  wouldn't  leave  a  flutter  in  her. 

He  dashed  into  his  office,  tore  open  a  drawer, 
snatched  up  a  bank-book  in  it,  thrust  it  into  his 
pocket,  jammed  on  his  hat,  and  hurried  out  into  the 
High  Street. 

As  the  door  of  her  office  banged  behind  him, 
Nancy  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  It  had  been  a  strain 
to  keep  her  face  impassive  and  uncomprehending 
under  his  threats,  for  he  had  frightened  her;  the 
wild-rose  hue  of  her  cheeks  was  fainter.  She  hung 
idle  over  her  machine,  frowning,  wondering  what 
harm  he  could  do  her.  How  she  did  loathe  the 
brute.  .  .  .  On  her  very  first  day  at  Rawnsley's  she 
had  not  failed  to  notice  and  resent  his  leering  eye* 
.  .  .  And  then  his  offensive,  jocular  familiarity. 
.  .  .  What  a  cad  he  was!  .  .  .  And  what  a  brute! 
.  .  .  And  then  his  invitations  to  dine  with  him  and 
go  to  the  theatre.  ...  As  if  she  would  go  to  the 
theatre  with  a  cad  like  that !  .  .  .  And  the  insulting 
things  he  had  said  when  he  found  that  she  did  not 
mean  to  go  out  with  him.  .  .  .  And  the  way  he  had 
given  her  work  to  do  after  office  hours  which  kept 
her  hard  at  it  till  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  at  night. 
.  .  .  But  Mr.  Rawnsley  had  stopped  that.  .  .  .  And 
then  the  time  the  beast  had  tried  to  kiss  her.  , 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      61 

Oh,  she  was  glad  she  had  hit  him — hard.  .  .  .  How 
she  did  loathe  him ! 

In  truth  the  love-making  of  Montague  Burge  had 
at  first  partaken  in  about  equal  degrees  of  the  meth- 
ods of  an  old-time  plantation  overseer  making  love 
to  a  slave-girl  in  one  of  his  gangs  and  of  the  meth- 
ods of  a  Russian  officer  and  gentleman  making  love 
to  a  political  prisoner  on  her  way  to  Siberia.  Then 
he  had  been  checked  by  the  discovery  that  Mn 
Rawnsley  took  an  interest  in  her ;  and  had  declined 
with  great  chagrin,  since  he  had  hitherto  found 
those  other  methods  most  successful  in  the  shops  he 
had  adorned,  on  more  conventional  and  less  speedy 
methods.  He  had  been  effusive  with  fulsome  com- 
pliments whenever  he  chanced  on  her;  and  he  had 
made  many  occasions  of  chancing  on  her.  He  had 
slipped  boxes  of  chocolates  and  small  trinkets,  with 
letters,  into  her  desk.  His  chocolates,  his  trinkets, 
and  his  letters  came  back  to  him  without  a  word. 
Nancy  showed  no  faintest  sign  of  gratitude;  her 
very  greeting,  when  she  was  forced  to  greet  him, 
was  barely  civil. 

Then  one  evening  he  had  met  her  on  the  stairs 
as  she  was  leaving  work,  and  tried  to  kiss  her.  He 
had  been  signally  discomfited.  Long  years  of  sed- 
entary life  and  unused  muscles  had  left  him  uncom- 
monly flabby.  Nancy  had  been  an  excellent  lawn- 
tennis  and  hockey  player,  for  a  girl,  before  she  had 
come  to  London  the  previous  November.  She  had 


62      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

taken  a  long  walk  every  Sunday  during  the  winter ; 
and  for  some  time  she  had  been  doing  Swedish  exer- 
cises she  had  learned  from  a  book,  morning  and 
evening,  to  keep  her  muscles  hard  against  the  time 
when  she  should  again  be  playing  games.  In  five 
seconds  Montague  Burge  was  rubbing  a  stinging 
cheek,  and  swearing,  as  he  watched  her  fly  down  the 
bottom  flight  of  stairs.  It  was  this  last  defeat  which 
had  driven  him  to  a  drastic  device  he  had  found 
successful  once  before;  she  had  fallen  into  his 
trap;  and  now  in  his  sudden  fury  to  crush  her 
he  was  throwing  away  the  advantage  he  had 
gained. 

Nancy  ended  her  reflections  with  a  grimace  of 
disgust,  and  turned  again  to  her  typewriting.  When 
she  had  finished  typing  out  the  letters,  she  took  them 
to  Mr.  Rawnsley.  He  read  them  through,  signed 
them,  and  dictated  some  more.  He  was  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  fifth  letter  when  the  door  opened  and 
Montague  Burge  came  hurriedly  in  followed  by  a 
clean-shaven  man  who  wore  a  very  disturbed  and 
troubled  air.  Nancy  recognized  him  as  the  cashier 
who  had  been  so  polite  to  her  when  she  had  cashed 
some  cheques  for  Montague  Burge  at  the  bank  in 
the  High  Street. 

"I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Mr.  Rawnsley,"  said 
Montague  Burge.  "But  it's  a  serious  matter — forg- 
ery. The  endorsement  of  the  firm  has  been  forged  on 
three  open  cheques;  and  they've  been  cashed.  The 


THB  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      63 

amount  is  eleven,  four,  six.  Is  this  the  girl?"  he 
said  to  the  cashier,  pointing  to  Nancy. 

The  cashier  looked  at  Nancy  with  a  very  miser- 
able air,  hesitated,  and  then  stammered,  "Y-y-es. 
I-I'm  afraid  that  is  the  young  1-1-lady." 

"I  thought  so,"  cried  Montague  Burge  triumph- 
antly. I  wondered  what  she  was  doing  in  my  office 
last  Thursday." 

"B-but  I  wasn't  in  Mr.  Burge's  office  last  Thurs- 
day— or  ever !"  cried  the  startled  Nancy,  wondering 
what  was  the  trouble. 

"Oh,  weren't  you?"  said  Montague  Burge.  "It's 
as  plain  as  a  pike-staff!"  he  went  on,  turning  to  Mr. 
Rawnsley.  "This  girl  stole  the  cheques,  forged  the 
endorsements,  and  cashed  them.  It's  a  matter  for 
the  police." 

"B-b-but  I  didn't!"  cried  Nancy,  beginning  to 
grasp  her  peril.  "Mr.  Burge  brought  the " 

"One  moment!  One  moment,  Miss  Weston!" 
cried  Mr.  Rawnsley  in  a  loud  voice.  "Are  you  go- 
ing off  your  head,  Burge?  Or  is  it  merely  your 
memory  that's  going  ?  You  brought  me  those  three 
cheques  yourself  last  Thursday,  and  I  endorsed 
them." 

There  was  a  faint  gasp  of  relief  from  the  cashier ; 
and  the  color  began  to  return  to  Nancy's  cheeks. 
She  did  not  understand  the  matter ;  but  she  gathered 
that  Mr.  Rawnsley  had  come  to  her  rescue. 

"I — I  brought  the  cheques  to  you?"  stammered 


64      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Montague  Burge,  astounded;  and  he  stood  staring 
open-mouthed  at  his  employer. 

"On  Thursday  morning — or  was  it  Friday  ? — and 
I  sent  Miss  Weston  to  the  bank  myself  to  cash  them 
for  me,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley  firmly. 

"B-b-but "  stammered  Montague  Burge. 

"I'm  sorry  that  you've  been  bothered  like  this  for 
nothing,  Mr.  Carruthers — just  at  the  busiest  part  of 
the  day,  too,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley,  suavely,  to  the 
bank  cashier;  and  he  rang  the  electric  bell  on  his 
desk. 

Montague  Burge  glared  at  his  employer. 

"No  trouble — no  trouble — mistakes  will  happen. 
And  I'm  glad — very  glad  indeed  that  it  was  a  mis- 
take," said  the  cashier,  looking  at  Nancy. 

"The  fact  is,  Mr.  Burge  works  so  hard  and  car- 
ries so  many  things  in  his  mind  that  he  can't  be  ex- 
pected to  remember  everything.  The  fact  that  he 
brought  the  cheques  to  me  slipped  his  memory,"  said 
Mr.  Rawnsley,  rising. 

A  clerk  came  in;  Mr.  Rawnsley  shook  hands 
warmly  with  the  cashier,  and  bade  the  clerk  con- 
duct him  through  the  building  to  one  of  the  High 
Street  entrances. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  them,  he  said,  sharply, 
"Now  you  can  tell  me  what  did  happen." 

"I  saw  her  come  out  of  my  ofHce "  cried 

Montague  Burge. 

"Not  you,  Burge!    Not  you!     I've  heard  your 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      65 

story.  I  want  the  true  one.  What  happened,  Miss 
Weston  ?"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley. 

"Mr.  Burge  came  up  to  me  in  my  office  on  Thurs- 
day morning,  before  you  came,  sir,  and  gave  me  the 
three  cheques,  and  told  me  to  write  the  name  of  the 
firm  on  the  back  of  them,  and  take  them  round  to 
the  bank  and  cash  them;  and  I  did  it,"  said  Nancy. 

Mr.  Rawnsley  laughed:  "You  little  duffer!  You 
committed  forgery!"  he  cried.  "You  must  never 
write  any  name  but  your  own  on  a  cheque — never. 
But  what  was  your  game,  Burge?  What  was  the 
object  of  your  little  trap?" 

Montague  Burge  could  only  glare  at  him  with 
furious  eyes. 

A  sudden  look  of  enlightenment  brightened  Mr. 
Rawnsley's  face  and  he  smiled.  Then  he  frowned 
and  said  angrily:  "Oh,  I  see  the  game.  Has  this 
dog  been  making  love  to  you,  Miss  Weston?" 

"He — he  has  been — bothering  me  a  good  deal," 
said  Nancy,  blushing. 

"And  you  were  irresponsive  ?  You  wouldn't  have 
anything  to  do  with  him  ?"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley. 

"No,  I  wouldn't!"  cried  Nancy,  and  her  eyes 
flashed. 

"Oh,  Burge,  Burge,  what  a  devil  you  are  with  the 
ladies,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley,  in  a  hard,  jeering  voice ; 
and  his  benevolent  eyes,  grown  extraordinarily  hard 
and  cruel  and  burning,  scorched  his  wretched  man- 
ager. 


66      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

There  was  a  choking  sound  from  the  throat  of 
Montague  Burge. 

"So  when  you  found  your  manly  beauty  wasn't 
appreciated,  you  were  going,  to  revenge  yourself  by 
this  infernal  trick,  were  you?"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley; 
and  he  waited  for  an  answer. 

Montague  Burge's  mouth  opened,  but  no  answer 
came  from  it. 

"You're  a  very  dirty  scoundrel,  Burge.  No  one 
but  a  wretched  cur  would  try  such  a  game  on  a 
woman,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley,  with  shriveling  scorn. 
Then  he  banged  down  his  hand  on  his  desk  and 
roared :  "Let  me  catch  you  at  it  again,  and  I'll  smash 
you,  you  dog !" 

Montague  Burge  found  his  voice.  He  was  at  the 
end  of  his  patience,  his  prudence,  all  regard  for  con- 
sequences. By  the  same  stroke  he  had  lost  Nancy 
for  good  and  all,  and  he  had  lost  the  vengeance 
which  should  have  soothed  his  torn  heart.  He 
looked  at  the  man  who  had  balked  him,  with  the 
raging  eyes  of  a  baited  tiger ;  that  that  man  should 
call  him  to  account  was  the  last  straw. 

"Smash  me !  You  smash  me?"  he  snarled.  "You 
be  careful  what  you're  talking  about !  You !  You, 
Rawnsley !" 

"I  can  smash  you,  and  if  you  give  me  any  reason 
to— any  reason — I  will,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley. 

His  voice  had  gone  quiet,  almost  gentle;  his 
words  came  slow  but  very  clear,  almost  piercing. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      67 

And  the  odd  thing  was  that  for  all  his  gentleness  he 
looked  by  far  the  more  dangerous  of  the  two.  It 
might  have  been  the  gleam  in  his  eyes;  they  shone 
with  the  hard  shine  of  polished  metal. 

But  Montague  Burge  was  beyond  perceiving  any- 
thing. 

"And  you'll  smash  yourself  with  me !"  he  howled, 
furiously.  "You  can  take  your  oath  to  that!  It's 
for  you  to  look  out — not  me !  I  know  too  much  to 
be  frightened  by  you!  You  threaten?  Swank — 
that's  what  that  is !  Just  swank !  I've  taken  my  pre- 
cautions all  right;  and  you  bear  it  in  mind,  will 
you  ?  We  sink  or  swim  together,  we  do !  You  bear 
it  in  mind,  you  silly,  white-headed,  old  mug !" 

His  voice  had  started  hoarse  and  loud  and  blus- 
tering; on  the  last  words  it  suddenly  wore  thin  and 
faint.  He  was  at  the  end  of  his  emotions,  at  the 
end  of  everything.  He  flung  out  of  the  room  and 
banged  the  door  behind  him. 

Mr.  Rawnsley  looked  at  the  slammed  door,  scowl- 
ing, ugly,  dangerous.  Then  he  laughed  softly  and 
slowly,  a  laugh  which  made  Nancy  shiver,  it  was  so 
charged  with  wicked  menace. 

Then  he  looked  at  Nancy,  pale  and  trembling  in 
her  terror  of  these  furious  men ;  and  his  eyes  turned 
soft.  He  smiled  and  said:  "Well,  you  are  a  little 
duffer.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  that  dog  was 
persecuting  you?" 

"I  didn't  like  to,"  said  Nancy,  flushing  faintly. 


68      THE  HOUSH  ON  THE  MALL 

"And  so  you  committed  forgery.  I  had  to  lie 
pretty  freely  to  get  you  out  of  that  mess,"  he  said, 
smiling. 

"Yes;  and  oh,  it  was  good  of  you,  sir!"  she  cried, 
and  burst  into  tears. 

Mr.  Rawnsley  looked  at  her;  and  his  face  grew 
faintly  calculating :  "Some  day  I  may  ask  you  to  do 
something  for  me — something  important.  Will  you 
do  it  ?"  he  said,  slowly. 

"Yes,  I  will — anything !"  cried  Nancy. 

Mr.  Rawnsley  looked  at  the  closed  door;  and  his 
face  hardened  again.  Then  he  said  between  his 
teeth,  half  to  himself : 

"The  good  Burge  forgets  the  important  factor  in 
the  situation — a  certain  Colonel — late  of  the  Otto- 
man army." 


CHAPTER  VII 

MR.    SHORE-WARDELL  SPENDS  A  BUSY  DAY 

MR.  SHORE-WARDELL  regulated  his  life 
by  a  golden  rule;  he  never  rose  before 
noon — as  much  later  as  sleepiness  might 
direct,  but  never  before.  On  the  22nd  of  May 
he  broke  that  golden  rule  for  the  first  time  in  years ; 
he  rose  at  half-past  nine.  It  was  not  virtue  which 
urged  him  to  this  praiseworthy  breach  of  his  golden 
practice;  it  was  greed.  Greed  had  kept  him  lying 
awake  for  two  hours  the  night  before ;  and  he  awoke 
still  simmering  with  that  passion.  The  thought  of 
the  two  thousand  pounds  which  were  going  to  their 
Chief  as  his  share  of  the  Aldington  spoil,  filled  his 
mind.  It  filled  it  painfully;  he  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  it.  The  pain  of  the  thought  drove  him 
from  his  bed — he  must  be  up  and  doing. 

It  was  greed  also  which  had  stirred  him  to  an  un- 
wonted pitch  of  observation  in  a  suburb.  As  a  rule, 
he  observed  nothing  in  a  suburb,  not  even  the  wom- 
en, though  he  was  of  a  gallant  nature.  But  the 
night  before,  on  leaving  1 1  Malkin  Lane,  he  had 
observed  a  board  set  up  in  the  garden  of  a  house  a 
few  doors  lower  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 

69 


70      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

road.  He  had  crossed  the  road  and  learned  that  16 
Malkin  Lane  was  to  be  let  furnished;  and  that 
Messrs.  Turnbull  &  Grigg  had  the  letting  of  it. 
He  stood  for  a  little  while  in  front  of  No.  16  in  a 
thoughtful  consideration;  his  mind  was  full  of  the 
knowledge,  so  carelessly  imparted  to  it  by  Montague 
Burge,  that  in  the  course  of  the  next  three  nights 
there  would  be  two  thousand  pounds,  in  five-pound 
notes,  moving  up  or  down  Malkin  Lane  and  only 
protected  by  a  fair-haired  young  man  with  a  fair 
mustache. 

One  of  the  results  of  his  thoughtful  consideration 
of  No.  1 6  was  that  while  Montague  Burge  was  sit- 
ting in  his  locked  office,  with  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands,  striving  to  compose  himself,  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  was  sitting  in  the  office  of  Messrs.  Turn- 
bull  and  Griggs. 

His  beaming  pink  face  had  quite  lost  the  queru- 
lousness  of  the  night  before ;  he  was  a  large,  lately- 
fed,  good-humored  baby  with  a  gurgling  chuckle. 
He  beamed  and  chuckled  over  the  business  which 
had  brought  him  to  Mr.  Turnbull,  his  need  for  a 
small  furnished  house.  His  doctor  had  ordered  him 
to  sleep  out  of  London  for  the  good  of  his  nerves ; 
and  the  furnished  house  must  be  in  a  very  quiet 
street  free  from  any  disturbing  traffic. 

Mr.  Turnbull,  whose  rich,  red,  old-English  face, 
probably  ancestral,  would  certainly  have  turned  any 
bull  at  full  speed  towards  him,  had  he  got  into  the 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      71 

same  field  with  it,  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  air 
and  dress  and  conversation  of  this  new  client,  since 
Mr.  Shore- Wardell  had  mentioned  casually  that  a 
duke  had  offered  to  lend  him  a  cottage  in  Berk- 
shire, a  marquess  a  small  house  in  Bucks,  both  of 
which  had  been  too  far  from  town  for  him.  Heav- 
ily deferential,  Mr.  Turnbull  ran  his  finger  down  the 
pages  of  his  ledger,  proposing  house  after  house, 
expatiating  on  the  advantages  of  each.  He  offered 
houses  in  Ravenscourt  Park,  Bedford  Park,  Grove 
Park  and  Chiswick  Park.  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  re- 
jected them  one  after  another  with  a  considerable 
fertility  of  excuse.  Both  his  prudence  and  his  ob- 
stinacy were  concerned  not  to  give  Mr.  Turnbull 
a  lead;  he  was  sure  that  No.  16  Malkin  Lane  was 
somewhere  or  other  in  that  book,  sooner  or  later 
he  must  come  to  it. 

At  last  he  did  come  to  it;  he  said,  in  a  doubtful 
tone :  "There's  a  house  in  Malkin  Lane,  but  it's  not 
very  well  furnished." 

"Malkin  Lane?  Where  is  Malkin  Lane?  It's 
an  attractive  name,"  said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell. 

"It's  three  or  four  turnings  along  on  the  right. 
It  leads  down  to  the  Mall." 

"Ah,  charming — charming — a  punning  name — 
some  eighteenth-century  wag.  I  like  the  name ;  and 
if  it's  really  quiet,  the  situation  is  convenient — as 
near  town  as  I  can  hope  to  find  a  house,  and  close 
to  the  main  road." 


72      THB  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"It's  quiet  enough,"  said  Mr.  Turnbull. 

"Good — good — can  I  see  it  ?" 

Mr.  Turnbull  looked  at  him  and  hesitated;  then 
he  saw  his  way  to  getting  a  higher  rent  from  this 
friend  of  dukes  than  he  would  from  an  ordinary 
tenant :  "I'll  come  and  show  it  to  you,"  he  said.  "My 
partner's  here." 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell  thanked  him  with  effusion. 
They  got  into  a  taxicab  that  was  waiting  and  drove 
to  Malkin  Lane.  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  sat  well  back 
in  the  taxicab,  which  he  had  chosen  for  its  depth, 
though  he  had  very  little  fear  that  Montague  Burge 
would  see  him;  he  must  be  busy  in  his  office.  But 
it  was  well  to  take  no  chances. 

He  went  over  the  house,  beaming,  but  with  great 
thoroughness.  He  wished  to  convey  to  Mr.  Turn- 
bull  the  strong  impression  that  he  was  going  to  use 
the  house  as  his  quiet  sleeping-place  night  after 
night  with  the  utmost  regularity;  and  he  conveyed 
that  impression.  Having  examined  it  with  this 
thoroughness,  he  agreed  to  take  it  for  three  months 
at  four  guineas  a  week,  more  than  the  house-agent 
had  expected  to  get ;  and  having  paid  a  month's  rent 
in  advance  and  given  the  names  of  two  peers  as 
references,  Mr.  Turnbull  made  no  objection  to  his 
entering  on  immediate  occupation,  and  then  and 
there  handed  the  latch-key  over  to  him.  He  under- 
took to  have  the  water  turned  on  that  afternoon. 
Both  of  them  were  quite  satisfied  with  the  arrange- 


ment :  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  had  the  post  of  observa- 
tion he  wanted ;  and  Mr.  Turnbull  had  let  the  house 
for  a  guinea  a  week  more  than  he  had  expected  to 
get  for  it. 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell  drove  back  to  town,  beaming 
still.  He  lunched  at  one  of  his  clubs;  but  after  it 
he  did  not  at  once  betake  himself  to  bridge,  as  was 
his  custom ;  he  went  to  his  rooms  in  Jermyn  Street, 
and  came  out  of  them  carrying  a  light  grey  over- 
coat on  his  arm.  He  took  a  taxicab,  drove  to  the 
Commercial  Road,  Whitechapel,  and  got  out  of  it 
fifty  yards  from  Wonderland.  He  walked  to  that 
famous  home  of  London  boxing;  five  shillings  to 
the  clerk  at  the  box  office  gave  him  what  he  wanted, 
the  address  of  Crinkly  Billson ;  and  he  took  another 
taxicab  to  Waterloo  Station. 

From  Waterloo  he  took  a  train  to  Vauxhall ;  but 
whereas  he  entered  the  train  clean-shaven,  he  came 
out  of  it  wearing  a  full  grey  beard ;  and  he  had  put 
on  his  light  grey  overcoat.  He  walked  from  the  sta- 
tion to  41  Plinlimmon  Road;  and  a  singularly  ill- 
smelling  landlady  informed  him  that  Mr.  Billson 
was  out,  but  that  Mrs.  Billson  was  at  home,  and  led 
him  up  to  a  frowsy  little  sitting-room  on  the  third 
floor.  There  he  found  the  prizefighter's  wife,  a 
timid,  suppressed  young  woman,  mending  a  rent  in 
one  of  the  most  gorgeous  fancy  vests  in  all  South 
London. 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell  told  her  that  he  wished  to  see 


74      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

her  husband  on  private  business  with  the  least  pos- 
sible delay;  and  saying  that  she  thought  that  she 
would  find  him  in  the  saloon  bar  of  the  Blue  Boar 
just  round  the  corner,  she  hurried  away  to  bring 
him. 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell  made  haste  to  open  a  window. 
It  did  not  open  easily;  neither  the  prizefighter  nor 
his  wife  appeared  to  have  needed  fresh  air  for 
some  weeks.  Then  he  lighted  a  cigar,  since  there 
was  a  curious  musky  smell  in  the  room,  as  if  it  were 
the  lair  of  one  of  the  large  carnivora.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait;  a  heavy  man  came  bounding  up  the 
stairs,  with  a  light  enough  step,  but  shaking  the 
house  by  his  mere  weight,  and  Crinkly  Billson — he 
had  acquired  the  name  of  Crinkly  from  the  singular 
crinkly  frizziness  of  his  black  hair — came  into  the 
room. 

The  experts  of  the  ring  said  that  it  only  rested 
with  himself  for  Crinkly  Billson  to  become  the 
champion  of  the  world.  Standing  six  feet  four  in 
his  stockings,  broad  and  thick  in  proportion,  bull- 
necked,  big-limbed,  and  as  quick  as  a  cat,  there  cer- 
tainly appeared  no  physical  reason  why  he  should 
not  realize  their  dream.  The  reasons  were  tempera- 
mental— his  villainous  temper  and  his  passion  for 
drink. 

He  started  slightly  at  the  sight  of  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell's  grey  beard,  and  greeted  him  curtly.  As 
he  considered  his  curious  red-brown,  restless  eye, 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      75 

his  short  combative  nose,  his  thick  lips  with  their 
odd,  ugly  twitching,  the  liquorish  flush  on  his  flat 
cheeks,  and  his  mastiff  jowl,  Mr.  Shore-Wardell 
perceived  that  he  was  to  have  an  awkward  ally,  hard 
to  manage.  But  in  the  pursuit  of  money,  he  never 
quailed : 

"Can  anyone  hear  us  ?  Because  I've  come  to  talk 
about  a  little  motor  ride  we  took  with  a  lady  about 
a  month  ago,"  he  said  suavely. 

"Wot  abaht  it?"  growled  the  prizefighter  in  a 
weak,  husky  voice  quite  out  of  keeping  with  his  huge 
body ;  and  his  scowling  face  was  tigerish. 

"Those  jewels  sold  for  seven  thousand  pounds. 
Did  you  get  your  fair  share  of  that  seven  thousand 
pounds — considering  the  risk  you  ran?  I  didn't," 
said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell. 

"Seven  thousand  pounds !  Not  me.  I  never  got 
no  fair  share,  I  didn't !  An'  that  scraggin'  the  shuv- 
ver !  There  ain't  three  men  in  London  as  could  er 
pulled  him  out  er  'is  seat  by  'is  silly  neck!"  cried 
the  pugilist ;  and  he  fell  to  cursing  a  man  called  Wil- 
son, for  having  done  him  in  the  eye,  huskily,  vicious- 
ly, and  at  length. 

This  was  the  spirit  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  wanted. 
He  perceived  that  Wilson  and  Montague  Burge 
were  one.  He  expressed  the  deep  sympathy  of  a 
fellow  sufferer  with  the  pugilist,  and  very  soon  had 
him  raging  as  furiously  as  any  one  could  desire.  He 
was  going  to  bash  Wilson;  he  was  going  to  dance 


76      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

on  him ;  he  was  going  to  knock  his  head  off ;  he  was 
going  to  break  every  bone  in  his  body.  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  observed  his  rage  with  keen  pleasure;  if 
ever  he  should  think  it  good  to  disembarrass  the 
world,  and  himself,  of  Montague  Burge,  here  was 
the  man  who  would  rush  at  the  chance  of  doing  it. 

But  when  at  last  the  weak  voice  of  the  raging 
pugilist  sank  to  a  vicious  hissing,  Mr.  Shore-War- 
dell  got  to  business.  He  told  him  that  there  was  a 
good  chance  of  getting  square  with  Wilson,  and  at 
the  same  time  of  getting  their  fair  share  of  the 
Aldington  loot.  One  night  during  the  next  week 
two  thousand  pounds  of  it  would  be  in  a  lonely, 
empty  lane  in  the  hands  of  a  fair-haired  secretary. 
The  plan  was  made;  everything  was  ready  to  seize 
the  two  thousand  pounds  except  the  man  to  knock 
the  fair-haired  secretary  down  and  take  the  money. 
Would  Billson  be  the  man  ? 

Would  he?  He  expressed  his  burning  desire  to 
sally  forth  at  once  and  out  the  blighter,  with  a 
vigor  that  warmed  Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  heart. 

He  explained  that  it  was  not  a  matter  of  instant 
action,  that  the  messenger  of  their  unknown  chief 
might  indeed  come  to  hand  that  very  night,  but 
they  might  have  to  wait,  keeping  a  patient  and 
sober  vigil,  night  after  night  for  a  week.  The  pu- 
gilist said  he  was  willing  to  wait  twenty  nights  to 
get  square  with  Wilson.  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  bade 
him  meet  him  at  the  Hammersmith  end  of  Hammer- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      77 

smith  Bridge  at  nine  that  night,  and  follow  him, 
without  speaking  to  him,  to  the  place  of  their  vigil. 
As  he  was  leaving  the  room,  Mr.  Shore- Wardell 
turned  and  said :  "By  the  way,  my  name  is  Burge — 
Montague  Burge.  You  won't  forget." 

"Nah,"  said  the  pugilist. 

Mr.  Shore-Wardell  took  the  train  to  Waterloo 
and  arrived  there  clean-shaven  again.  He  went  to 
his  rooms,  left  his  overcoat,  betook  himself  to  his 
club,  and  in  the  contented  frame  of  mind  of  a  man 
who  has  already  done  his  day's  work,  and  that  a 
good  one,  settled  down  to  bridge.  He  played  till 
a  quarter  to  eight  and  then  had  an  excellent  dinner. 

At  a  few  minutes  to  nine  he  stepped  out  of  a  taxi- 
cab  at  Hammersmith  Broadway  and  walked  brisk- 
ly down  to  the  bridge.  He  was  clean-shaven,  but 
on  his  way  to  the  bridge  he  turned  into  an  empty 
side  street  and  came  out  of  it  bearded.  At  the  end  of 
the  bridge  he  saw  the  big  figure  of  the  pugilist.  He 
turned  and  went  along  the  Mall.  The  pugilist  fol- 
lowed him,  some  twenty  yards  behind.  When  they 
came  into  Malkin  Lane  it  was  empty.  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  opened  the  door  of  No.  16,  went  in,  and 
waited  inside  the  door  for  the  pugilist.  They  went 
into  the  dining-room. 

Mr.  Shore-Wardell  drew  a  bottle  of  whiskey  from 
his  overcoat  pocket  and  set  it  on  the  table.  From 
another  pocket  he  took  a  large  cigar  case  and  set 
it  beside  the  whiskey.  He  brought  a  jug  of  water, 


78      THE  HOUSE  ON  THH  MALL 

glasses,  and  a  corkscrew  from  the  pantry.  They 
mixed  themselves  drinks,  lighted  cigars,  and  sat 
down  in  the  bow  window  to  keep  their  watch. 

At  first,  as  the  last  of  the  dusk  deepened  to  dark- 
ness, Mr.  Shore-Wardell  talked.  Presently  he 
found  that  the  pugilist  could  not  talk,  though  he 
was  affable  to  him  on  his  own  subject,  the  prize- 
ring  ;  neither  could  he  be  talked  to.  Then  they  were 
silent,  expectant,  eager.  Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  sensi- 
bility was  ruffled  by  the  fact  that  the  pugilist  had 
brought  with  him  the  musky  smell  from  his  rooms 
in  the  Plinlimmon  Road.  It  was  not  only  in  ex- 
pression that  he  resembled  the  large  carnivora.  The 
hours  passed  slowly,  but  not  very  slowly,  to  Mr. 
Shore-Wardell ;  he  was  too  excited  to  find  them  very 
slow.  No  fair-haired  messenger  came  to  No.  n. 
Since  Montague  Burge  did  not  live  there  and  the 
house  was  empty,  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at. 

At  midnight  the  pugilist  began  to  grow  fidgety, 
shuffling  his  feet  and  muttering  that  it  was  no  go. 

At  half-past  twelve  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  rose  and 
said :  "No ;  he  won't  come  to-night.  We  must  watch 
tomorrow." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SOLEMNITY  OF  THE  MARQUESS 

NANCY  had  been  seeing  the  Marquess  of 
Drysdale  often.  It  seemed  to  her  that  it 
must  be  a  prerogative  of  marquesses  to  dis- 
pense with  invitations.  If  he  did  not  come  to  tea  on 
three  days  in  the  week,  he  came  on  four,  always 
uninvited.  At  his  first  coming  her  uncle  had  awak- 
ened with  a  quite  sudden  briskness  from  his  usual 
inventive  trance,  and  had  adopted  towards  him  an 
attitude  of  cold,  but  quite  polite,  suspicion.  The 
Marquess,  though  she  had  gathered,  from  the  clear- 
ness with  which  he  had  seen  objects  up  and  down 
the  river,  that  he  enjoyed  excellent  sight,  failed 
utterly  to  perceive  that  attitude. 

Later  her  uncle  had  abandoned  it  and  become  his 
usual,  amiable  self.  Perhaps  he  had  found  the  sol- 
emnity of  the  Marquess  reassuring.  It  did  inspire 
confidence.  After  tea  he  had  gone  down  to  his 
work  in  his  room  off  the  power-house,  and  left  them 
together.  The  Marquess  had  stayed  on  for  an  hour, 
and  Nancy  had  found  the  hour  short. 

At  supper  that  night  her  uncle  had  once  more 

79 


8o      THE  HOUSn  ON  THE  MALL 

awakened  suddenly  from  his  inventive  trance,  and 
observed  that,  though  marquesses  as  a  rule  were  not 
desirable  acquaintances  for  a  girl  who  earned  her 
own  living,  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale  seemed  a  very 
serious  young  man. 

"He  would  come  to  tea,  uncle,"  said  Nancy.  "I 
really  couldn't  stop  him." 

"I  should  say  that  he  had  considerable  force  of 
character/'  said  her  uncle. 

"Yes;  I  suppose  that's  what  it  is,"  said  Nancy, 
rather  doubtfully.  "I  should  have  said  it  was  cheek, 
if  he  hadn't  been  a  marquess.  But  of  course  one 
doesn't  know  about  marquesses.  They  may  be  dif- 
ferent." 

"Possibly — possibly/'  said  her  uncle.  "But  I  sup- 
pose they're  quite  human."  He  paused,  then  added : 
"Though  I  must  say  that  I  have  never  come  across 
so  much  solemnity  before  in  one  human  being.  He 
has  enough  to  go  round  the  whole  Bench  of 
Bishops." 

"Yes,  he  has,"  said  Nancy. 

The  more  she  saw  of  the  Marquess  the  more  his 
solemnity  puzzled  her:  it  was  so  inconsistent  with 
the  joyous,  infectious  laughter  into  which  he  would 
break  suddenly,  and  for  no  apparent  reason.  At 
least  Nancy  could  not  often  trace  the  connection  be- 
tween the  laugh  and  what  he  had  been  saying,  or 
she  had  been  saying.  But  for  his  solemnity  the 
connection  might  have  been  plain  enough ;  as  it  was, 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      81 

she  could  not  bring  herself  to  believe  that  anyone  so 
solemn,  and  a  marquess,  too,  could  be  justified  in 
laughing  as  he  did. 

Her  perplexity,  however,  did  not  prevent  her  from 
laughing  often  and  heartily  at  him,  or  rather  at 
things  he  said,  inconsistent  with  his  seriousness. 
Only  she  would  often  check  herself  before  she  had 
laughed  her  laugh  out,  with  a  sense  of  guilt;  she 
felt  that  it  could  not  be  right  to  laugh  at  a  mar- 
quess endowed  by  heaven  with  this  great  gift  of 
solemnity.  It  was  a  relief  to  realize  that  it  was  his 
fault,  that  he  made  her  laugh.  He  took  her  laugh- 
ter very  well ;  sometimes,  indeed,  his  solemn,  pained 
expression  would  break  down,  and  he  would  smile 
his  charming  smile,  or  laugh  with  her. 

After  a  while  she  found  that  his  solemnity  was, 
as  it  were,  a  veil  between  them,  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  grow  intimate  with  so  solemn  a  person. 
She  did  not  know  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry  for 
it,  whether  she  wanted  to  grow  very  intimate  with 
him  or  not.  After  all,  as  she  told  herself  more 
than  once,  he  was  a  marquess,  and  she  was  a 
typist  in  Rawnsley's  Emporium.  Besides,  he  was 
going  to  marry  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Europe. 

She  was  glad  that  he  had  told  her  this,  because 
after  all,  he  was  very  good-looking  in  his  curious, 
uncommon  style.  .  .  .  She  had  never  heard  anyone 
talk  in  such  an  interesting  way.  .  .  .  Indeed,  she 


82      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

had  not  known  that  anyone  did  talk  in  such  an  in- 
teresting way;  and  she  liked  it  very  much.  .  .  . 
The  fact  that  he  was  going  to  marry  the  most  beauti- 
ful woman  in  Europe  seemed  somehow  to  keep 
things  straight.  ...  It  prevented  her  from  getting 
very  much  interested  in  him.  .  .  .  She  fancied  that 
it  was  not  difficult  for  people  to  get  very  much  in- 
terested indeed  in  him. 

At  the  same  time  she  found  that,  without  ever 
having  set  eyes  on  her,  she  had  taken  a  dislike  to 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe. 

Still,  if  she  did  not  grow  very  intimate  with  him, 
it  was  very  pleasant  to  have  such  a  friend.  He  was 
beginning  to  change  life  for  her;  it  was  no  longer 
dull.  He  talked  to  her  about  everything  that  came 
into  his  head,  always  as  if  she  were  a  sensible  per- 
son, never  as  if  she  were  merely  a  pretty  girl;  and 
she  liked  it.  Sometimes,  indeed,  she  could  not  fol- 
low him;  he  used  words  she  did  not  understand. 
She  sometimes  thought  that  she  ought  to  buy  a  dic- 
tionary and  look  them  out  afterwards.  She  feared 
that  she  was  losing  a  chance  of  improving  her  mind. 
She  did  not,  however,  buy  a  dictionary. 

Though  the  Marquess  seemed  to  find  invitations 
unnecessary,  he  seemed  to  feel  himself  under  a 
strong  obligation  to  return  their  hospitality.  The 
third  time  he  came  to  tea  he  invited  them  to  dine 
with  him  at  the  Ritz  and  go  to  the  theatre  afterwards. 
Nancy's  eyes  brightened,  but  her  uncle  said  that 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      83 

such  dissipation  would  spoil  his  work  for  the  day 
after  it. 

The  Marquess  looked  solemnly  at  Nancy  and 
said :  "But  Miss  Weston — surely  we  ought  to  try  to 
improve  her  mind." 

Nancy  flushed,  and  her  eyes  flashed  at  the  Mar- 
quess. He  gazed  at  her  solemnly,  unabashed. 

"There  is  that,"  said  her  uncle.  "Nancy  must  be 
deeply  sensible  of  your  kind  interest  in  her  educa- 
tion." 

The  Marquess  laughed  his  sudden,  joyous  laugh ; 
and  they  both  laughed  with  him.  They  always  did. 
Then  he  proceeded  to  set  forth  at  length,  and  with 
an  eloquence  that  must  have  been  very  useful  to 
him  in  the  House  of  Lords,  a  good  score  of  reasons 
why  they  should  accept  his  invitation.  He  kept  his 
eyes  on  her  uncle  in  a  solemn,  unrelenting  stare. 

At  the  end  of  the  oration  her  uncle,  apparently 
a  little  dazed,  accepted  the  invitation  with  some  re- 
luctance. Then  he  looked  at  his  hands,  which  bore 
some  ingrained  traces  of  invention,  and  said  gloom- 
ily, "I  shall  have  to  go  to  a  confounded  manicurist." 

Nancy  was  delighted  by  the  prospect  of  going  to 
the  theatre ;  but,  ungratefully,  she  was  a  little  vexed 
that  the  Marquess  should  have  once  more  got  his 
way.  He  always  seemed  to  get  it. 

She  fixed  the  Thursday  evening  of  the  next  week. 
The  Marquess  would  have  had  it  sooner;  but  she 
had  to  acquire  a  frock  to  wear  at  that  dinner  and 


84      THB  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

theatre.  The  creation  of  her  country  dressmaker 
would  not  be  worthy  of  the  Ritz.  It  would  be  a 
struggle  to  acquire  a  frock  which  would  look  like 
the  right  frock;  the  right  frock  itself  was  quite  be- 
yond her. 

She  pondered  the  matter  with  a  frowning  brow 
during  supper;  and  her  uncle,  finding  her  so  silent, 
asked  her  what  ailed  her. 

"I'm  thinking  about  my  frock  for  Thursday.  I 
shall  have  to  get  one,  you  know,"  said  Nancy. 

"Of  course  you  will,"  said  her  uncle. 

He  rose,  went  to  his  desk  in  the  corner  of  the 
room,  opened  it,  and  gave  her  a  ten-pound  note. 

"This  is  for  the  frock,"  he  said.  "I  think  I 
should  get  something  simple." 

"Oh!  All  this,  uncle!"  cried  Nancy,  who  had 
never  been  the  possessor  of  so  large  a  sum  at  any 
time  in  her  life  before.  "Thank  you  so  much.  But 
— but — can  you  spare  it  ?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Some  of  my  inventions  bring  me  in  a 
good  deal  of  money,  Rawnsley  tells  me.  You're  to 
spend  all  of  it  on  the  frock.  I  suppose  you  know 
where  to  get  it." 

"I  shall  get  it  at  the  Emporium,"  said  Nancy. 
"You  see  I  shall  get  the  material  at  nearly  cost  price 
because  I  work  there." 

"But  the  style  ?"  said  her  uncle,  doubtfully. 

"Oh,  I  shall  see  to  that  myself.  I  know  exactly 
what  I  want,  you  see." 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      85 

Her  uncle  looked  at  her  thoughtfully;  and  then 
he  said :  "I've  been  meaning  to  speak  to  you  about  it. 
You  mustn't  let  the  Marquess  turn  your  head,  you 
know.  He's  a  very  well-meaning,  serious  young 
fellow,  though  he  doesn't  know  anything  about  me- 
chanics; and  he's  all  very  well  as  a  friend.  But 
marquesses — er — well — they  have  to  marry — er — 
politically — in  their  own  circle,  you  know." 

"Oh,  that's  quite  all  right,"  said  Nancy.  "I  quite 
understand  about  that.  He's  going  to  marry  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe,  whoever  she  is. 
He  told  me  so." 

Her  uncle's  eyes  opened  wide;  and  he  looked  at 
her,  hard,  for  half  a  minute.  Then  he  smiled. 

Nancy  got  her  frock  at  the  Emporium;  and  she 
got  what  she  wanted.  In  spite  of  her  beauty,  she 
was  not  greatly  disliked  by  women ;  not,  that  is,  by 
those  women  with  whom  she  came  into  contact. 
Moreover,  the  fact  that  she  was  Mr.  Rawnsley's 
secretary  weighed  with  the  heads  of  the  Dress  and 
the  Mantle  Departments.  Besides,  he  made  a  point 
of  employing  competent  people,  keenly  interested  in 
their  work ;  and  they  did  not  often  have  a  customer 
who  stimulated  their  artistic  faculties  as  Nancy  did. 

One  morning,  while  it  was  being  made,  she 
brought  Mr.  Rawnsley  his  letters  to  sign. 

He  took  them,  and  said  carelessly :  "I'm  told  that 
you're  getting  an  expensive  frock  here.  Have  you 
come  into  money?" 


Nancy  did  not  resent  the  inquiry;  she  was  far 
too  grateful  to  him  for  having  extricated  her  from 
Montague  Burge's  trap. 

"Oh,  no ;  my  uncle  gave  me  the  money,"  she  said. 
"We  are  going  to  the  theatre  with  the  Marquess  of 
Drysdale  next  Thursday." 

Mr.  Rawnsley  sat  suddenly  upright  in  his  seat 
and  frowned :  "Marquesses  are  dangerous  acquaint- 
ances for  pretty  girls  who  earn  their  own  living," 
he  said. 

"Oh,  that's  quite  all  right,  sir,"  said  Nancy.  "The 
Marquess  is  going  to  marry  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  Europe,  whoever  she  is.  He  told 
me  so." 

Mr.  Rawnsley's  eyes  opened  wide ;  and  he  looked 
at  Nancy,  hard,  for  half  a  minute.  Then  he  smiled. 

"He  seems  to  have  been  very  frank  with  you,"  he 
said. 

"Yes,"  said  Nancy.  "He  is  very  frank." 

"I've  noticed  that  politicians  always  are,"  said 
Mr.  Rawnsley.  And  he  began  to  sign  his  letters. 

When,  on  the  Thursday  evening,  Nancy  came  in- 
to the  hall  of  the  Ritz,  the  Marquess  stared  at  her 
for  a  moment  as  if  he  hardly  recognized  her.  Then 
he  greeted  her  solemnly;  but  it  was  not  his  usual 
solemnity;  it  was  of  a  different  quality,  somewhat 
dazed. 

During  dinner  several  men,  dining  at  tables  near 
them,  kept  gazing  at  her  with  a  rather  dazed  air. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      87 

The  women  with  them  gazed  at  her  in  quite  a  dif- 
ferent fashion. 

Nancy  enjoyed  the  evening  greatly;  so  did  the 
Marquess. 


*£*?    ;', •.'.'/•.     . 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  MURDER  ON  THE  MALL 

THE  windows  of  the  dining-room  of  the  house 
on  the  Mall  were  wide  open  to  let  in  the 
air  of  the  May  evening  which  was,  for  that 
chilly  month,  uncommonly  balmy.  At  the  head  of 
the  shortened  table  sat  Mr.  Rawnsley,  leonine,  be- 
nevolent; facing  him  sat  a  young  man  with  a  fair 
mustache,  his  son  Henry.  There  was  little  likeness 
between  them ;  Henry's  was  a  rather  weak  face ;  ow- 
ing to  his  mother's  neglect  when  he  was  a  little  child 
his  lips  were  always  slightly  parted;  his  pale  blue 
eyes  always  shrank  a  little  from  meeting  other  eyes. 
An  odd  upward  twist  of  the  eye-socket  and  a  sharp, 
tip-tilted  nose  gave  him  a  waggish  air.  Indeed,  he 
was  renowned  for  his  practical  jokes  in  the  best 
circles  of  Kew  and  Mortlake;  and  Messrs.  Hector 
Ramsay,  Turner,  and  Preece  could  have  recognized 
him  as  the  waggish  young  gentleman  who  had  paid 
them  three  pounds  apiece  for  playing  the  early 
morning,  but  practical,  joke  on  the  sleeping  inhab- 
itants of  Rutland  Gate,  Ennismore  Gardens,  and 
Montpelier  Square. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      89 

Mr.  Rawnsley  was  separated  from  his  wife.  The 
scandal  which  had  led  to  their  separation,  one  of 
those  scandals  which  insist  on  attaching  themselves 
to  proprietors  of  Emporia,  was  an  old  one ;  they  had 
been  separated  for  eight  years.  Once  every  month, 
if  his  father  was  in  London,  Henry  dined  at 
the  house  on  the  Mall;  but  he  lived  with  his 
mother. 

Mr.  Rawnsley  was  neither  greatly  interested  in 
Henry,  nor  very  fond  of  him;  there  was  little  in 
common  between  them;  Henry  was  his  mother's 
son,  not  his  father's.  She  had  opposed  the  boy's 
entering  the  business  as  his  father  had  wished ;  she 
had  declared  that  she  and  his  father  could  afford 
to  make  Henry  a  gentleman ;  and  a  gentleman  he 
should  be.  Henry  had  supported  his  mother  warm- 
ly, since  being  a  gentleman  did  not  seem  to  him  to 
be  a  laborious  occupation,  and  therefore  it  was 
eminently  suited  to  a  boy  of  his  simple  tastes. 

Mr.  Rawnsley  had  yielded  gracefully  to  his  wife. 
He  had  merely  observed  to  the  lawyer  through 
whom  they  communicated  with  one  another  about 
matters  of  importance,  that  you  could  not  make  a 
gentleman  out  of  a  boy  who  had  never  been  to  a 
public  school,  but  had  always  been  under  the  care 
of  private  and  inefficient  tutors,  and  had  further 
only  associated  with  the  families  of  retired,  or  still 
practising,  tradesmen,  who  dwelt  at  Kew,  Mortlake 
or  on  the  outskirts  of  Richmond. 


The  lawyer  had  thought  that  Mr.  Rawnsley  en- 
tertained very  narrow  and  old-fashioned  views 
about  what  made  a  gentleman.  If  a  young  man  who 
would  start  with  a  thousand  a  year  at  twenty-one 
and  would  one  day  be  worth  some  ten  thousand  a 
year,  who  had  never  done  a  stroke  of  work  in  his 
life,  was  not  a  gentleman,  who  was  ?  Mrs.  Rawns- 
ley agreed  with  the  lawyer;  and  for  the  last  two 
years  Henry  had  been  pursuing  that  peaceful  occu- 
pation in  Kew,  Mortlake,  and  the  outskirts  of  Rich- 
mond. 

But  it  had  come  about  that  Mr.  Rawnsley  was 
not  interested  in  Henry;  one  evening  a  month  was 
as  much  of  his  society  as  he  could  endure.  They 
had  so  little  to  talk  about.  Always,  early  in  the 
evening,  he  would  ask  him,  with  great  politeness, 
how  he  was  getting  on  with  being  a  gentleman ;  and 
Henry  would  answer,  in  all  good  faith :  "All  right, 
guvner — all  right."  But  Henry  made  jokes,  he  did 
not  see  them ;  and  on  the  whole  his  father  was  about 
as  fond  of  him  as  he  was  of  his  fox-terrier,  Nick, 
who  sat  with  him  in  his  study  and  slept  in  a  basket 
in  his  bedroom.  That  had  not  prevented  him  from 
using  Henry's  fine  talent  for  conducting  a  practical 
joke  to  get  Rutland  Gate  cleared  of  police. 

They  had  finished  their  dinner;  and  as  he  set 
down  his  first  glass  of  claret  after  his  first  sip,  he 
said,  "And  how  is  your  mother  ?" 

He  always  asked  the  question  at  the  first  glass  of 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      91 

claret;  and  as  always  Henry  answered:  "She's  all 
right — just  the  same  as  usual." 

"And  quite  happy,  I  trust.  She  has  a  grievance; 
and  people  of  her  disposition  are  generally  happy 
when  they  have  a  grievance.  You  ought  to  acquire 
one ;  but  I  expect  you  will,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley 
lightly. 

Henry  looked  at  his  father  with  a  puzzled  air;  he 
often  said  to  his  friends,  "I  never  know  what  to 
make  of  the  guvner's  talk." 

His  father  drank  some  more  claret,  and  said : 
"And  what  do  your  friends  say  about  that  little 
joke  you  played  for  me  in  Ennismore  Gardens  and 
Montpelier  Square?  Do  they  see  any  point  in 
it?" 

"I  haven't  told  them.  I  wasn't  to  say  anything 
about  it  for  two  months ;  and  then  I'm  to  have  an- 
other twenty,"  said  Henry  quickly.  "So  I  haven't 
told  anyone." 

"Of  course  not — of  course  not — a  gentleman 
wouldn't,"  said  his  father.  "I'll  give  you  the  twenty 
now.  But  you  mustn't  say  anything  till  the  two 
months  are  up.  It  might  get  round  to  Sir  George 
Wilson  that  a  Rawnsley  had  arranged  his  waking 
up;  and  he'd  see  that  I  had  had  a  hand  in  it."  He 
took  a  banknote  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  hand- 
ed it  to  his  son.  "Mind,  you  say  nothing  for  an- 
other month,  and  only  then  if  you  feel  that  you  ab- 
solutely must  brag  about  it." 


92      mn  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALI* 

"I  don't  want  to  brag  about  it,"  said  Henry,  witH 
some  heat.  "Thanks  very  much." 

His  father  was  sure  that  he  would  say  nothing 
for  another  month;  and  he  thought  that,  now  that 
he  had  had  the  twenty  pounds,  he  had  no  reason  for 
remembering  the  affair  as  long  as  that;  he  would 
most  likely  forget  it  altogether.  It  seemed  a  need- 
less precaution,  since  no  one  had  connected  the  three 
drunken  men  with  the  theft  of  the  Aldington  emer- 
alds. But  to  Andrew  Rawnsley  no  precaution 
seemed  needless. 

They  were  silent  a  while,  drinking  their  claret. 

Henry  broke  the  silence;  he  said:  "I  say,  guv- 
ner,  where's  that  book  got  to  I  was  reading  last 
time  I  was  here — 'Lord  Lisdor'  ?  I  began  it  while 
I  was  waiting  for  you  to  come  down  to  dinner ;  and 
I  meant  to  take  it  away  with  me,  and  forgot.  Can  I 
have  it?" 

"It's  not  a  book  for  a  boy.  You  don't  want  to 
learn  too  much  about  women,"  said  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley. 

Henry  repudiated  the  statement  that  he  was  a 
boy,  with  some  heat.  He  was  twenty,  getting  tow- 
ards the  time  when  he  would  be  thinking  of  getting 
married,  he  ought  not  to  be  treated  like  a  boy.  His 
father  was  for  a  long  time  firm  in  his  refusal;  but 
the  more  he  refused  the  more  he  stimulated  Henry's 
obstinacy;  and  Henry  persevered  and  persevered. 

At  last,  having  had  his  fill  of  teasing  him,  his 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL      93 

father  said:  "Very  well,  you  may  have  the  book. 
But  it's  at  1 1  Malkin  Lane.  I  had  a  business  inter- 
view with  a  man  there — a  man  I  didn't  want  at 
the  Emporium — the  other  day;  and  I  left  it  there. 
You'll  have  to  go  and  get  it." 

No.  1 1  Malkin  Lane  was  the  first  house  in  which 
Andrew  Rawnsley  had  lived  on  coming  to  London. 
He  had  lived  there  for  five  years,  founding  and 
building  up  his  Emporium.  His  wife  and  Henry 
thought  it  a  sentimental  waste  of  money  to  keep  the 
house  on;  Andrew  did  not  share  that  opinion:  II 
Malkin  Lane  was  useful  to  him. 

He  took  a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket,  slipped 
one  off  the  ring,  and  tossed  it  across  the  table  to 
Henry.  Henry  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  thanked 
him.  He  talked  for  a  few  minutes  longer,  finished 
his  claret,  and  bade  his  father  good-night. 

As  he  was  going  through  the  door,  his  father 
said :  "Don't  forget  to  bring  back  the  key.  I  may 
want  it." 

They  were  fatal  words.  Had  he  not  spoken  them, 
his  son  might  have  forgotten  to  take  the  key  back, 
have  walked  straight  up  Malkin  Lane  to  the  High 
Road  to  Kew  and  safety,  instead  of  down  it  to  the 
Mall  and  death. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  poured  himself  out  another 
glass  of  claret. 

Henry  went  out  of  the  garden  gate,  turned  to 
the  left,  and  a  dozen  yards  further  on,  at  the  end 


94      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

of  his  father's  garden  wall,  turned  up  Malkin  Lane. 
Whistling  softly,  he  walked  quickly,  eager  to  get  his 
book.  He  did  not  see  the  dull  red  ends  of  the  burn- 
ing cigars,  warning  beacons  if  he  had  known  it,  in 
the  bow  window  of  No.  16.  He  did  not  see  Mr. 
Shore-WardeH's  face,  close  to  the  glass  of  the  win- 
dow as  he  peered  at  him,  come  for  a  moment  into 
the  faint  light  from  the  lamp  at  the  corner  of  the 
lane.  He  was  looking  straight  ahead.  He  turned 
into  the  little  front  garden  of  No.  n. 

As  Henry  passed  No.  16,  Mr.  Shore- Wardell 
cried,  "That's  our  man  for  a  fiver." 

Their  hearts  beat  high ;  and  as  Henry  turned  into 
the  garden  of  No.  n  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  cried,  "I 
told  you  so !" 

There  was  no  need  for  another  word ;  their  plan 
was  laid.  They  made  quickly  for  the  front  door,  and 
so  missed  the  fact  that  Henry  let  himself  into  No. 
ii.  It  might  have  given  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  pause. 
They  came  out  of  the  front  door  as  Henry  went 
into  No.  n. 

Crinkly  Billson  went  swiftly  down  to  the  Mall 
and  posted  himself  at  the  right-hand  corner  of  Mal- 
kin Lane  from  which  he  had  a  good  view  of  the 
lane  as  far  as  No.  n,  and  at  the  same  time  a  good 
view  of  the  empty  Mall.  He  had  only  to  cross  the 
bottom  of  the  lane  when  the  Chief's  messenger 
should  turn  along  the  Mall,  to  come  upon  him  from 
behind.  He  moved  noiselessly;  he  was  wearing 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      95 

gymnasium  shoes  with  thin  india-rubber  soles.  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell  stayed  in  the  doorway  of  No.  16, 
whence  he  could  watch  the  upper  part  of  the  lane  and 
give  warning  should  anyone  come  down  it  after  the 
Chiefs  messenger  had  left  No.  u. 

The  lane  was  empty,  the  Mall  was  empty,  but  for 
the  sinister  watchers.  Henry  went  into  the  dining- 
room  and  lighted  the  gas.  The  book  was  lying  on 
the  table  where  his  father  had  set  it  down  when  his 
visitor  arrived.  He  did  not  pick  it  up  at  once;  he 
looked  round  the  room.  He  had  had  a  long  strug- 
gle with  his  father  before  he  had  obtained  his  per- 
mission to  have  the  book;  and  the  opposition  had 
aroused  the  mischievous  instinct  of  the  practical 
joker.  The  room  offered  no  great  field  for  the  ex- 
ercise of  his  talents ;  he  had  to  content  himself  with 
turning  the  clock  face  to  the  wall,  substituting  the 
December  for  the  May  card  in  the  calendar  on  the 
mantelpiece,  and  putting  a  small  piece  of  coal  in 
the  ink-pot  on  the  writing-table.  Then,  with  a  grin 
of  satisfaction,  he  came  out  of  the  house. 

He  walked  down  the  Lane  towards  the  Mall  to 
take  back  the  key.  From  the  doorway  of  No.  16 
Mr.  Shore- Wardell  saw  that  he  was  carrying  the 
square  package  he  was  expecting;  there  was  not 
enough  light  to  show  that  it  was  only  a  book.  Crink- 
ly Billson  from  the  bottom  of  the  lane  also  saw  that 
he  carried  something.  Their  hearts  beat  high;  the 
two  thousand  pounds  was  almost  in  their  hands. 


96      THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Henry  came  down  to  the  Mall  and  turned  along 
it  under  the  wall  of  his  father's  garden.  He  was 
hardly  conscious  of  the  pugilist ;  he  only  saw  a  fig- 
ure walking  away  from  him.  But  as  he  turned,  the 
pugilist  turned  too  and  came  leaping  along  with 
long,  swift,  noiseless  strides,  up  behind  the  uncon- 
scious boy. 

He  was  right  on  him,  the  life-preserver  swinging 
back  for  the  blow,  when  Henry  turned  his  head 
sharply,  saw  above  him  the  gleaming  eyes  and  bare 
teeth  of  the  pugilist,  and  uttered  a  shrill  cry.  The 
blow  cut  it  short.  The  pugilist  had  aimed  to  bring 
the  weapon  down  on  the  top  of  his  straw  hat,  mean- 
ing only  to  stun  him.  The  sudden  turn  of  the  head 
spoiled  his  aim;  and  the  weapon  fell  on  his  bare 
temple. 

Henry  dropped  in  his  tracks.  The  pugilist 
snatched  the  book  from  him  as  he  was  falling, 
bounded  round  the  corner,  across  Malkin  Lane,  and 
into  the  door  of  No.  16.  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  shut 
the  door  quickly  and  softly. 

"The  notes !    Have  you  got  the  notes  ?"  he  hissed. 

"Yes,"  said  the  pugilist. 

"Come  on!  Come  on!"  cried  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell,  and  he  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  hurried 
him  down  the  passage  into  the  back  room. 

He  lighted  the  gas  and  said:  "Let's  have 
a  look." 

Billson  held  out  the  book. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL      97 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell  stared  at  it  and  gasped.  Bill- 
son  stared  down  at  it  and  gasped. 

"What's  this?  The  notes!"  cried  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  shrilly. 

"This  is  wot  I  got  orf  'im,"  said  the  pugilist, 
staring  down  at  the  book  with  unbelieving  eyes. 

"You  bungling  ass !"  cried  Mr.  Shore-Wardell. 

"Bungling  ass  yourself !"  said  the  pugilist  with  a 
sudden  glint  of  ferocity  in  his  eyes.  He  looked 
down  at  the  book  again: 

"Blimy,  if  I  ain't  done  'im  in  for  a  bloomin' 
book !"  he  said  with  a  stupid  laugh. 


CHAPTER  X 

INSPECTOR  GIFFEN  GETS  A  SHOCK 

AS  the  door  had  closed  behind  Henry,  his 
father's  mouth  had  opened  wide  in  a  pro- 
digious yawn  of  relief.  Then  he  poured 
himself  out  another  glass  of  claret  and  sipped  it 
slowly.  He  was  thinking,  without  any  great  regret, 
that  Henry  was  of  no  use  to  him,  or  for  that  mat- 
ter of  no  use  to  any  one  except  to  his  mother  as 
a  somewhat  porcupinish  pet.  His  reflections  were 
broken  by  the  entry  of  his  pretty  parlor-maid,  An- 
nie, bringing  spirit  tumblers  on  a  tray.  He  took 
the  hint  that  she  wanted  to  clear  the  table,  bade  her 
take  them  to  the  smoking-room,  and  rose. 

He  had  taken  two  steps  towards  the  door  when 
there  came  a  shrill  cry  from  the  Mall. 

"That's  Henry's  voice!"  he  said  sharply,  and 
hurried  to  the  window. 

The  Mall  was  silent,  and,  as  far  as  he  could  see, 
empty. 

Then  the  note  of  fear  which  had  rung  so  high  in 
the  cry  made  him  hurry  out  to  it.  As  he  came  out 
of  the  gate  his  eye  fell  on  the  huddled  heap  a  few 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL      99 

yards  from  him,  at  the  end  of  his  garden  wall.  His 
heart  leaped  in  him,  and  then  sank.  He  ran  to  the 
heap,  clutched  an  arm,  and  turned  the  face  to  the 
light  of  the  gas-lamp.  It  was  Henry. 

He  swore  under  his  breath. 

Then  he  dropped  the  arm  and  ran  to  the  corner 
of  Malkin  Lane.  It  was  empty.  He  ran  back  to  the 
river  parapet  whence  he  had  the  furthest  view  of 
the  Mall  right  and  left.  Right  and  left  it  was  empty. 

He  came  back  to  Henry,  and  dropped  on  one 
knee  beside  him.  In  a  few  seconds  he  found  the 
deep  dint  in  the  side  of  his  head.  He  picked  him  up, 
and  carried  him  into  the  house.  Annie,  standing, 
wondering,  on  the  top  of  the  steps,  shrank  back  into 
the  hall.  He  carried  the  body  into  the  dining-room 
and  laid  him  at  full  length  on  the  table.  Annie,  in 
the  doorway,  began  to  scream.  He  shouted  at  her 
to  fetch  Pettigrew.  His  violence  cleared  her  wits; 
and  she  ran. 

He  came  quickly  out  into  the  hall,  went  to  the 
telephone,  rang  up  Hammersmith  Police  Station, 
and  informed  the  inspector  that  his  son  had  been 
murdered  in  front  of  his  house  on  the  Mall.  Then 
he  rang  up  Pickering,  his  doctor,  and  bade  him 
come  at  once.  As  he  hung  up  the  receiver,  Petti- 
grew,  the  valet  of  Paul  Mauleverer,  the  friend  who 
shared  the  house  with  him,  came  hurrying  into  the 
hall. 

"Come  on,  Pettigrew,"  said  Rawnsley  quickly; 


and  he  led  the  way  out  to  the  Mall.  As  he  went 
he  told  Pettigrew  that  Henry  had  been  murdered. 

There  was  a  little  pool  of  blood  where  Henry  had 
lain.  They  searched  all  about  it  in  the  hope  that 
the  murderer  had  left  something,  dropped  it  in  his 
haste.  There  was  nothing. 

Bidding  Pettigrew  see  that  no  one  passed  along 
the  pavement  under  the  garden  wall,  Andrew 
Rawnsley  went  back  to  the  house.  He  found  half- 
a-dozen  weeping  servants  in  the  dining-room.  The 
housekeeper  had  straightened  the  dead  boy's  limbs 
and  put  pennies  on  his  eyes.  Andrew  Rawnsley  bade 
her  go  down  to  Kew  at  once  and  break  the  news 
to  his  wife,  and  turned  the  other  servants  out  of 
the  room. 

Then,  with  his  right  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece,  his 
right  hand  pulling  at  his  beard,  he  stood  staring 
down  at  his  dead  son. 

At  first  his  mind  was  a  chaos  of  horror,  anger, 
pity  and  dismay.  Then  out  of  the  chaos  rose  the 
memory  of  Henry  as  a  little  boy,  bright,  merry,  in- 
telligent, active,  promising ;  the  little  boy  with  whom 
now  and  again  he  had  played,  the  little  boy  of  whom 
he  had  had  hopes.  The  memory  hurt  him ;  his  strong 
face  was  set  in  lines  of  grief,  his  eyes  were  clouded. 
Then  his  mind  moved  to  the  way  in  which  his  busi- 
ness, his  crimes,  and  his  pleasures  had  crowded  the 
child  out  of  his  life,  and  robbed  him  of  the  chance 
of  realizing  those  hopes. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     101 

Well,  they  had  gone;  it  had  been  a  pity,  he  told 
himself;  but  he  did  not  grow  sentimental  about  the 
matter.  He  had  not  been  fond  of  the  boy  as  he 
grew  up,  spoiled  by  his  mother ;  and  he  did  not  pre- 
tend to  himself  that  he  had.  But  if  he  had  not  been 
deeply  wounded  in  his  affections,  he  had  been 
wounded  in  them ;  and  his  pride  was  lacerated.  That 
anyone  should  have  dared  to  do  this  thing  to  the 
son  of  Andrew  Rawnsley !  Then  his  mind  turned  to 
thoughts  of  vengeance. 

Who  had  murdered  the  boy?  He  quickly  dis- 
missed the  thought  that  it  might  have  been  some 
hooligan  footpad  out  for  a  purse.  His  mind  turned 
at  once  to  the  band  of  scoundrels  who  committed  the 
lucrative  crimes  by  which  he  profited.  He  was  sure 
it  was  the  deed  of  one  of  them.  But  which  of  them 
was  it?  And  what  was  the  motive?  He  thought 
of  the  quarrel  he  had  had  with  Montague  Burge 
about  Nancy  Weston.  Was  it  vengeance  ?  No ;  that 
was  ridiculous.  Burge  was  not  a  man  to  bother 
about  vengeance  for  a  matter  like  that.  He  might 
plot  upscrupulously  enough  to  get  the  girl;  he  was 
not  the  man  to  take  a  dangerous  revenge  for  the 
foiling  of  his  plot.  But  what  could  have  been  the 
motive  of  the  crime?  It  could  only  be  money. 
These  scoundrels  were  not  weak  men,  weak  men 
were  feeble  in  action;  and  after  it  they  were  dan- 
gerous with  their  fears  and  their  consciences.  There 
was  not  an  ounce  of  sentimentality  or  imagination 


102    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

between  all  the  four.  Not  one  of  them,  Burge, 
Webling,  Shore- Wardell,  or  even  Billson,  was  the 
man  to  commit  a  crime  save  for  a  solid,  money  rea- 
son. And  money  did  not  come  into  this  matter. 
It  began  to  dawn  on  him  that  he  was  face  to  face 
with  an  uncommon  mystery.  There  was  no  one,  no 
one  in  the  world  who  had  had  any  motive  for  mur- 
dering his  son.  It  looked  as  if  he  had  been  too 
quick  to  dismiss  the  possibility  that  the  murder  had 
been  the  work  of  a  hooligan  footpad  from  the  Ham- 
mersmith slums.  Yet  surely  such  an  one,  after 
striking  down  his  victim,  would  never  have  fled 
without  robbing  him — unless  the  cry  had  made  it 
too  dangerous  for  him  to  wait.  Yes ;  it  was  indeed 
a  mystery — a  mystery  he  must  solve  himself.  The 
police  were  no  use,  unless  perhaps  the  murderer  had 
been  a  hooligan.  He  could  not  set  them  on  the 
track  of  his  confederates;  his  tongue  was  tied.  He 
must  himself  avenge  his  own. 

While  Andrew  Rawnsley  stood  frowning  down 
on  the  body  of  his  dead  son,  his  mind  searching  and 
weighing  and  sifting,  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  and  Mar- 
maduke  Billson  faced  one  another  in  the  gas-lit 
back  room  of  No.  16  Malkin  Lane,  in  a  growing 
fury,  upbraiding,  abusing,  cursing  one  another  for 
their  failure,  for  having  nothing  to  show  for  a  brutal 
murder  but  a  shilling  novel.  Mr.  Shore- Wardell 
abused  the  pugilist  for  not  having  made  sure  that 
their  victim  carried  the  notes  before  he  struck;  the 


THH  HOUSB  ON  THB  MALL     103 

pugilist  abused  him  for  having  sent  him  forth  to 
strike  uselessly. 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  face  was  crimson  with  his 
vehement  rage;  his  shrill,  squeaking  voice  outrang 
Billson's  husky  croak.  Billson's  scowl  deepened  and 
deepened  till  his  face  was  a  mask  of  ugly  ferocity. 
Then,  suddenly,  without  a  word  of  warning,  he 
smashed  his  right  fist  into  the  round,  red  expanse 
of  Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  face,  sent  him  flying 
back  hard  against  the  wall,  saw  him  drop  in  a  heap 
at  its  foot,  flung  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the 
house. 

He  strode  swiftly  up  Malkin  Lane  and  turned  to 
the  right  along  the  High  Road  to  Hammersmith, 
his  soft  hat  crushed  down  over  his  brow,  his  shoul- 
ders hunched,  still  swearing  under  his  breath  at  Mr. 
Shore-Wardell. 

Fifty  yards  down  the  High  Road  he  was  hustling 
his  way  through  a  group  of  young  men  and  girls 
when  Inspector  Giffen  passed  him  in  a  taxicab,  driv- 
ing swiftly  to  the  house  on  the  Mall.  A  minute 
earlier  and  he  would  have  passed  him  in  Malkin 
Lane  and  marked  him. 

Mr.  Shore-Wardell  lay  still  for  a  couple  of  min- 
utes, then  he  drew  himself  painfully  up  into  a  sitting 
posture  with  his  back  against  the  wall.  He  sat  there 
for  three  or  four  minutes,  trying  to  understand  what 
had  happened,  the  blood  pouring  from  his  nose. 
Then  he  pulled  out  his  handkerchief,  held  it  to  his 


104    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

nose,  and  staggered  up  to  the  bathroom.  He  was 
a  long  while  stopping  the  flow  of  blood,  and  then 
his  head  was  aching  cruelly.  He  did  not  lead  a  life 
to  enable  him  to  receive  a  smashing  right-hander 
from  a  heavy-weight  boxer  without  suffering  the 
greatest  possible  pain  and  discomfort  from  it. 

He  went  into  the  nearest  bedroom  and  threw  him- 
self on  the  bed.  It  was  two  hours  before  he  rose 
from  it,  his  head  still  dazed  and  throbbing.  He 
must  be  getting  out  of  Malkin  Lane.  He  lighted  the 
gas  and  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  really  had  a  nose;  at  least 
the  button  mushroom  which  had  served  him  for  a 
nose  was  swollen  out  of  all  recognition,  swollen  and 
crimson  and  shiny  like  the  nose  of  a  persistent  tip- 
pler. 

He  went  downstairs,  put  on  his  light,  grey  over- 
coat and  cap,  took  his  stick,  turned  out  the  gas  in 
the  back  room,  went  into  the  dining-room,  and 
peered  into  the  road.  A  man  was  walking  slowly 
up  the  opposite  pavement.  Mr.  Shore-Warden 
waited  for  him  to  get  out  of  the  lane ;  but  half-way 
up  it  the  man  turned  and  came  back  to  the  Mall. 
There  he  turned,  walked  half-way  up  the  Lane 
again,  turned,  and  again  came  back. 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  heart  sank.  The  man  was 
watching  the  lane.  For  ten  minutes  he  stood  at  the 
window,  watching  the  watcher,  pulling  at  his  beard, 
cudgelling  his  brains  for  a  plan.  He  was  feeling 


-  'THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL     105 

his  swollen  nose  painfully,  when  it  gave  him  the 
plan. 

He  waited  till  the  watcher  had  gone  up  the  lane 
nearly  to  the  end  of  the  beat  he  was  walking,  then 
he  came  noisily  out  of  the  front  door,  laughing,  cried 
into  the  house,  "Good-ni',  old  man !  Good-ni' ! 
Shunday !  My  place — Shunday !  Shupper  at  eight ! 
Good-ni' !"  And  slammed  the  door. 

He  lurched  down  the  path  to  the  gate,  and  saw 
the  watcher  hurrying  down  the  other  side  of  the 
road  to  get  a  look  at  him.  He  went  down  to  the  Mall, 
lurching  from  side  to  side,  now  and  again  he  gurgled 
and  chuckled.  As  he  turned  along  the  Mall  he 
broke  into  a  snatch  of  song  and  waved  his  cane 
cheerfully.  He  lurched  along  to  the  end  of  the  Mall, 
putting  the  strongest  constraint  on  himself  not  to 
look  back.  At  the  end  of  the  Mall  he  dropped  his 
cane;  and  in  stooping  down  with  a  drunken  man's 
care  and  deliberation,  to  pick  it  up,  he  got  the  look 
back  he  wanted.  The  Mall  was  empty ;  the  watcher 
had  gone  back  into  Malkin  Lane. 

At  Hammersmith  Bridge  Mr.  Shore-Wardell 
took  a  taxicab  to  the  corner  of  Sutherland  Avenue. 
He  arrived  there,  wearing  a  beard,  and  walked  down 
it.  He  came  out  of  the  further  end  beardless,  and 
took  another  cab  to  the  top  of  St.  James's  Street. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  was  still  cudgelling  his  brains 
for  the  motive  of  the  crime,  when  there  came  the 
sound  of  men's  voices  in  the  hall;  and  Detective- 


io6    TUB  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

Inspector  Giffen,  a  short,  thickset,  snub-nosed 
sharp-featured  man,  of  a  brisk  air  and  with  bright, 
fierce  eyes,  came  into  the  dining-room,  followed  by 
a  local  detective.  He  had  been  up  in  Hammersmith 
when  the  telephone  message  had  come  to  the  police 
station  from  the  house  on  the  Mall;  and  the  police 
inspector  in  charge  had  at  once  sent  out  to  the  "Earl 
Howe,"  where  he  was  interviewing  two  of  the  lead- 
ing criminals  of  the  district  with  a  view  to  obtain- 
ing information  about  the  doings  of  a  third,  and 
asked  him  to  take  this  new  affair  in  hand. 

"I'm  Detective-Inspector  Giffen  from  Scotland 
Yard,"  he  said,  briskly,  by  way  of  introduction,  and 
at  once  plunged  into  the  case. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  told  him  the  facts  quickly  and 
succinctly.  His  son  had  been  dining  with  him,  and 
after  dinner  he  had  gone  round  to  his  other  house 
in  Malkin  Lane  to  get  a  book.  Ten  minutes  later 
he  had  heard  a  cry  from  the  Mall,  and  had  hurried 
out  to  find  his  son  lying  dead  under  the  wall  of  his 
garden,  and  the  Mall  empty. 

Inspector  Giffen  asked  how  long  he  had  been  get- 
ting out  to  the  Mall  after  the  cry.  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley said,  "Less  than  half  a  minute,"  and  Annie  said 
she  was  sure  it  was  not  more. 

"And  you  didn't  see  anyone?"  said  Inspector  Gif- 
fen. 

"Not  a  soul,  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left ; 
and  there  was  no  one  in  Malkin  Lane." 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     107 

"Of  course  he'd  bolt  quickly,  whoever  it  was," 
said  Inspector  Giffen.  "But  it  would  take  him  some 
seconds  to  rob  the  body." 

"But  nothing  has  been  taken — no  valuables,"  said 
Andrew  Rawnsley,  pointing  to  the  watch  and  chain 
and  money  which  his  housekeeper  had  laid  together 
on  the  table  at  Henry's  feet. 

Inspector  Giffen  scratched  his  head,  "And  where's 
the  book  ?"  he  said. 

"By  Jove !  I  never  thought  of  the  book !"  cried 
Andrew  Rawnsley. 

"We'd  better  go  round  to  your  house  in  Malkin 
Lane  and  see  if  he  took  it  away,"  said  Inspector 
Giffen. 

They  went  round  to  1 1  Malkin  Lane,  and  not  only 
found  that  the  copy  of  "Lord  Lisdor"  was  not  on 
the  table  where  Andrew  Rawnsley  had  left  it,  but 
they  found  the  other  traces  of  the  unfortunate  boy's 
visit,  the  clock  with  its  face  turned  to  the  wall,  the 
card  changed  in  the  calendar. 

When  they  came  back  to  the  Mall,  Inspector  Gif- 
fen crossed  to  the  river  parapet  and  with  his  eye 
measured  the  distance  either  way  along  the  wall, 
and  up  Malkin  Lane. 

"The  murderer  would  hardly  have  had  time  to 
get  out  of  your  sight,"  he  said;  and  he  turned  to 
the  local  detective  and  added :  "It's  worth  while 
keeping  an  eye  on  this  lane.  Jenkinson,  you'd 
better  watch  it  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours. 


io8 


It's  quite  likely  that  our  man  is  in  one  of  the 
houses." 

Then  he  went  back  into  the  house  with  Andrew 
Rawnsley. 

They  found  that  Dr.  Pickering  had  come  and  was 
examining  Henry's  body.  He  told  them  that  he  had 
died  of  a  compound  fracture  of  the  skull  inflicted 
by  a  blunt  instrument. 

As  the  detective  questioned  him,  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley, who  was  standing  by  the  fire,  again  set  his 
right  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece;  and  his  right  hand 
played  with  his  beard.  At  a  moment  when  his 
hand  covered  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  throwing 
into  relief  his  nose  and  eyes  and  brows  and  fore- 
head, the  detective  chanced  to  look  up  at  him.  In- 
spector Giffen  started  and  gasped;  his  eyes  opened 
wide  in  an  unbelieving  stare;  his  mouth  opened. 
Once  more  he  saw  the  upper  part  of  the  face  of  the 
sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale,  as  he  had  seen  it  when 
Dr.  McGinnis  was  drawing  down  the  shroud  to 
show  him  the  wound  in  the  suicide's  throat ;  he  saw 
it  feature  for  feature  as  he  had  seen  it  ten  years  ago. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ANDREW  RAWNSLEY  KEEPS  WATCH,  AND  INSPECTOR 
GIFFEN  MAKES  INQUIRIES 

INSPECTOR  GIFFEN  and  Dr.  Pickering  had 
gone.  Henry's  body  had  been  carried  up  to  a 
bedroom.  The  servants  had  gone  to  bed.  The 
house  was  still.  Andrew  Rawnsley  sat  in  his  library, 
puzzling  over  the  problem,  cudgelling  his  brains  for 
its  solution.  At  last  an  idea  came  to  him.  He  came 
out  of  his  study,  went  into  the  back  hall  and  along 
a  passage  on  the  left  to  a  little  staircase  leading  down 
to  the  basement.  It  was  not  the  main  staircase  to  the 
kitchens,  but  a  side  staircase  in  the  left  wing  of  the 
house.  At  the  bottom  of  it  he  found  him- 
self among  the  cellars  under  the  left  wing. 
He  walked  along  a  narrow  passage  in  utter 
darkness.  In  spite  of  the  darkness,  he  went 
along  it  with  a  sureness  and  quickness  which 
showed  that  he  often  used  it.  He  passed  several 
doors  of  cellars  leading  into  it,  some  of  them  open, 
others  shut;  and  at  the  end  of  the  passage  he  un- 
locked the  door  which  faced  down  it,  passed  through 
it,  locked  it  behind  him,  and  switched  on  the  elec- 
tric light. 

ICQ 


no    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

He  was  in  a  small  circular  cellar,  some  twelve 
feet  across,  at  the  end  of  the  left  wing  of  the  house. 
Facing  the  door  was  a  window,  half  above,  half 
below  the  level  of  the  cement  floor.  A  square  open- 
ing had  been  made  in  the  floor,  nearly  three  feet 
deep,  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  window  to  let  in 
more  light.  A  thick  blind  covered  the  window.  He 
crossed  the  cellar  and  pressed  his  thumb  against 
the  wall  beside  the  window.  A  small  sliding  panel 
slipped  aside  and  revealed  two  switches.  He  pressed 
down  the  bottom  switch;  and  the  cement  floor  of 
the  cellar  moved  round.  It  carried  him  half-way 
round  the  wall  till  he  was  at  right  angles  to  the 
window  and  the  door.  The  square  opening  in  the 
floor  had  stopped  at  the  top  of  a  flight  of  steps 
which  led  down  into  the  earth. 

He  went  down  the  steps;  at  the  bottom  of  them 
was  a  small  square  chamber.  Four  passages  ran 
from  it,  one  back  under  the  house,  one  to  the  left, 
the  third  to  the  right,  and  the  fourth  straight  for- 
ward. From  one  of  the  shelves  in  the  walls  of  the 
chamber  he  took  an  electric  hand-lamp  and  a  maga- 
zine pistol.  He  switched  on  the  lamp  and  took  the 
passage  to  the  right.  It  was  narrow,  not  more  than 
two  feet  broad,  and  low;  he  had  to  move  along  it 
stooping. 

It  ran  for  two  hundred  feet,  and  ended  in  a 
flight  of  steps  ten  feet  high,  widening  fan-like  as 
they  rose  to  a  width  of  seven  feet.  Above  the  top 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     in 

step  rose  a  seven  foot  square  of  brick  wall.  He 
pressed  a  spring  on  the  left  of  it ;  there  was  a  creak- 
ing of  machinery;  and  the  square  of  wall  revolved 
on  a  central  pivot,  as  do  doors  of  large  shops  or  res- 
taurants. He  passed  through  it;  it  completed  its 
revolution  and  closed  with  a  click  behind  him.  He 
was  in  another  cellar;  and  the  wall  through  which 
he  had  come  showed  only  a  flat  expanse  of  unplas- 
tered  bricks. 

He  unlocked  the  door  of  this  other  cellar,  went 
along  a  passage  to  a  flight  of  kitchen  stairs,  went 
up  them  into  a  hall,  opened  a  door  on  the  left,  and 
came  into  the  dining-room  of  1 1  Malkin  Lane.  He 
sat  down  in  the  bow  window  of  it,  and  looked 
through  the  curtain.  He  could  see  Jenkinson 
strolling  backwards  and  forwards  on  his  beat ;  save 
for  him  the  lane  was  empty,  and  nearly  all  the  win- 
dows, upstairs  and  down,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road  were  dark.  He  crouched  forward,  watch- 
ing. 

He  had  been  watching  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
when  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  made  his  dramatic  exit 
from  No.  16.  Andrew  Rawnsley  recognized  his 
figure  at  a  glance;  he  knew  that  a  grey  beard  had 
been  part  of  the  disguise  he  had  worn  in  the  affair 
of  the  Aldington  Emeralds;  the  big,  bibulous  nose 
must  be  false.  The  view  he  got  of  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell's  back  as  he  went  down  to  the  bottom  of 
the  lane  rendered  him  absolutely  certain  that  he  had 


ii2    THB  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

made  no  mistake.  He  smiled  grimly  at  his  confed- 
erate's excellent  imitation  of  a  drunken  man,  and 
muttered  under  his  breath :  "Certainly  Mauleverer's 
men  are  men  of  resource."  Then  he  saw  Jenkin- 
son  go  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  lane,  look  down 
the  Mall  after  Mr.  Shore-Wardell,  and  come  back 
to  his  beat.  He  thought  to  himself  that  that  was 
just  as  well;  he  could  avenge  himself  without  the 
help  of  the  police. 

He  did  not  stir;  he  sat  on,  pondering  his  discov- 
ery. The  more  he  considered  it,  the  more  surprised 
he  grew  that  it  should  have  been  Mr.  Shore-Wardell 
who  had  come  out  of  the  house  opposite.  He  was 
not  the  man  to  commit  a  murder  by  violence.  .  .  . 
Poison — yes.  .  .  .  As  often  as  you  liked.  .  .  .  But 
violence  ?  Never. 

He  had  still  much  to  find  out;  he  was  as  far  as 
ever  from  seeing  any  possible  motive  for  the  crime. 
Then  he  wondered  if  there  were  anyone  still  in 
No.  1 6.  Why  should  he  not  find  out?  He  rose  at 
the  thought,  for  with  him  to  think  was  to  act.  He 
went  back  to  the  house  on  the  Mall  by  the  way  he 
had  come,  opening  the  door  in  the  cellar  wall,  by  a 
hidden  spring  on  this  side  of  it,  and  moving  the  re- 
volving floor  of  the  other  cellar  by  a  spring  in  the 
little  chamber  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps. 

He  did  not  put  back  the  electric  lamp  or  the  mag- 
azine pistol  on  their  shelf.  The  lamp  was  in  the 
breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  the  pistol  in  the  hip  pocket 


run  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    113 

of  his  trousers.  He  went  out  of  the  circular  cellar 
and  along  two  or  three  passages  till  he  came  to  the 
kitchen.  He  loaded  a  tray  with  food  from  the  lar- 
der, carried  it  up  to  the  dining-room,  and  set  it  on 
the  table.  Then  he  came  out  of  the  front  door  and 
walked  round  into  Malkin  Lane. 

Jenkinson  came  down  it  to  him;  and  Andrew 
Rawnsley  said :  "You  must  be  tired  of  walking  up 
and  down  here — tired  and  hungry.  Go  to  the  dining- 
room,  and  you'll  find  some  supper  on  the  table.  I'll 
keep  watch  here  for  half  an  hour.  If  anyone 
comes  out  of  any  of  the  houses,  I  can  easily  call 
you." 

"I  could  peck  a  bit,"  said  Jenkinson,  hesitating. 

"Go  on  in,  man,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley  in  a  tone 
which  did  not  invite  disobedience. 

Jenkinson  went. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  waited  two  or  three  minutes; 
then  he  crossed  the  road  to  No.  16.  He  stood  in 
front  of  it,  regarding  its  dark  windows  for  perhaps 
two  minutes,  wondering  whether  frightened  eyes 
were  peering  out  at  him  from  behind  any  curtain. 
Then  he  went  up  the  steps  to  the  front  door,  set  his 
ear  against  it,  and  listened.  There  was  no  sound 
of  anyone  stirring  inside  the  house.  He  drew  from 
his  pocket  the  electric  lamp,  and  turned  its  light  on- 
to the  lock.  It  looked  an  ordinary  enough  lock — 
the  lock  that  closes  a  hundred  thousand  front  doors 
in  London.  He  took  from  his  trouser  pocket  a  knife 


ii4    THH  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

and  opened  an  oddly  shaped  blade.  He  slipped  it 
in  between  the  door  and  the  door-post  and  pressed 
back  the  catch.  The  door  opened. 

He  closed  the  blade  of  the  knife,  took  the  lamp 
in  his  left  hand,  the  pistol  in  his  right,  and  quietly 
stepped  into  the  hall.  As  he  stepped  in,  he  switched 
on  the  lamp  again.  The  hall  was  empty. 

He  moved  across  it  very  quietly  in  his  pumps,  and 
very  gently  opened  the  door  of  the  dining-room. 
The  strongest  scent  of  stale  tobacco  struck  on  his 
nostrils ;  and  on  the  instant  the  position  of  the  two 
chairs  in  the  bow  window,  the  two  glasses  on  the 
table  between  them  caught  his  eye.  He  crossed  the 
room  to  them.  About  either  chair  the  fallen  tobacco 
ash  from  two  or  three  dozen  cigars  lay  thick;  and 
brown  lay  the  stinking  butts  of  the  cigars  from 
which  they  had  fallen. 

Here  had  sat  two  watchers — yes,  two.  But  for 
whom  had  they  watched,  and  with  what  purpose? 
One  of  the  watchers  had  gone.  Where  was  the 
other? 

He  stole  softly  into  the  back  room  and  turned  the 
ray  from  his  lamp  about  it.  It  fell  on  something  red 
on  the  blue  carpet ;  it  was  the  missing  book.  He  ex- 
amined the  rest  of  the  room  very  carefully,  bending 
down  to  scan  the  carpet,  and  found  the  little  pool  of 
blood  from  Mr.  Shore-Wardell's  nose.  He  thought 
that  it  looked  as  if  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  had  stabbed 
his  confederate.  What  had  he  done  with  the  body  ? 


THH  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     115 

He  moved  about  the  house  with  greater  careless- 
ness. Evidently  the  other  man  who  had  watched 
would  not  be  in  a  condition  to  give  him  trouble.  He 
looked  for  him  in  all  the  rooms  downstairs;  then 
he  went  upstairs  and  examined  the  bedrooms.  There 
was  blood  in  the  bathroom  and  bloodstains  on  the 
white  counterpane  of  the  bed  on  which  Mr.  Shore- 
Warden  had  lain  to  recover  from  Billson's  blow. 
Andrew  Rawnsley  was  more  puzzled  than  ever. 
Why  should  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  have  carried  his 
confederate  upstairs  after  stabbing  him  and  laid  him 
on  the  bed.  The  theory  that  Mr.  Shore-Wardell 
had  done  the  stabbing  was  plainly  wrong.  Had  the 
confederate  stabbed  Mr.  Shore-Wardell,  left  him  for 
dead,  and  bolted  before  Giffen  had  set  the  watch  in 
the  lane  ?  That  looked  more  probable.  Then  Shore- 
Wardell  had  slowly  recovered,  stopped  the  bleeding, 
and  made  his  escape.  In  that  case  all  his  lurching 
had  not  been  put  on;  he  had  been  faint  from  loss 
of  blood.  It  might  be  so;  but  it  was  all  very  ob- 
scure. However  he  had  taken  the  first  steps  to  se- 
cure his  vengeance;  he  knew  he  had  to  be  avenged 
on  two  people.  .  .  .  Shore-Wardell  was  one.  .  .  . 
He  would  lead  him  to  the  other. 

As  he  came  out  of  the  empty  house,  he  said,  soft- 
ly, "Here  Mauleverer  takes  up  the  inquiry." 

Inspector  Giffen  did  not  take  steps  till  the  next 
day.  He  left  the  house  on  the  Mall  in  the  state 
which  he  was  wont  to  describe  as  "flabbergasted." 


n6    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

The  Drysdale  murder  had  been  his  first  important 
case.  Ten  years  before  the  Marchioness  of  Drys- 
dale had  been  found  dead  in  the  home  wood  of 
Drysdale  Court,  with  two  revolver  bullets  in  her 
heart.  He  had  been  sent  down  from  Scotland  Yard 
to  investigate  the  matter.  How  he  had  worked  on 
it !  The  sleepless  nights  it  had  cost  him !  Then  he 
had  got  his  clue;  and  as  he  unraveled  it  and  un- 
raveled it  he  had  slowly  gathered  up  proof  after 
proof  until  the  damning  case  again  the  Marquess 
was  complete. 

Then,  on  the  night  on  which  he  got  the  last  piece 
of  evidence,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  apply  the 
very  next  day  for  a  warrant,  his  prey,  so  patiently 
hunted  down,  had  escaped  him.  The  Marquess  had 
committed  suicide  that  very  night. 

Well  did  he  remember  his  fury  of  disappointment 
at  the  news,  and  well  did  he  remember  his  feelings 
as  he  walked  up  the  great  Italian  staircase,  with  Dr. 
McGinnis,  the  family  doctor  of  the  Drysdales,  to 
see  the  body  of  the  suicide.  He  remembered  well 
the  room  with  its  blue  furniture  and  curtains,  the 
big  old-fashioned  four-post  bed,  with  its  blue  hang- 
ings, in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  in  the  middle 
of  the  bed  the  still,  straight  figure  under  the  sheet. 
But  the  best  of  all  he  remembered  the  white  face 
of  the  Marquess  as  the  doctor  drew  down  the  sheet 
to  show  him  the  wound  in  the  throat.  And  now — 
ten  years  later — he  had  seen  that  dead  face  on  the 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     117 

shoulders  of  a  living  man  in  the  House  on  the  Mall ! 

He  went  over  the  whole  gruesome  business  again 
and  again.  No  one  with  such  a  wound  could  be 
alive.  It  was  beyond  the  bounds  of  possibility.  Yet 
he  had  that  very  night  seen  the  man  alive.  He  went 
over  the  whole  affair  again  and  again  as  he  tossed 
beside  his  sleeping  wife  in  their  little  West  Kensing- 
ton home.  There  was  the  funeral;  he  remembered 
reading  in  the  papers  accounts  of  the  funeral  of  the 
dead  Marquess.  The  papers  had  said  that  he  had 
committed  suicide  out  of  grief  at  his  wife's  death. 
He  knew  better  than  that ;  but  he  had  never  known 
why  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale  had  murdered 
his  wife;  he  had  never  been  able  even  to  make  a 
good  guess  at  the  motive  of  the  murder.  Taking  it 
along  with  the  suicide,  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  it  had  been  the  deed  of  a  madman,  though  there 
had  been  no  madness  in  the  way  the  Marquess  had 
followed  his  gathering  together  the  damning  evi- 
dence against  him.  Whom  had  they  buried — what 
had  they  buried  in  the  Drysdale  family  vault  in 
Drysdale  church? 

How  had  the  Marquess  recovered  from  such  a 
wound?  No  wonder  Andrew  Rawnsley  wore  a 
beard  to  hide  that  scar ! 

It  was  five  o'clock  before  Inspector  Giffen  fell 
asleep ;  but  he  came  to  breakfast  little  the  worse  for 
his  bad  night.  He  was  hardened  against  most  pri- 
vations; he  had  to  be.  He  had  just  sat  down  when 


ii8    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

he  saw  an  ugly-looking  gash  on  the  back  of  his  lit- 
tle boy's  hand. 

"How  did  you  cut  yourself  like  that,  Jimmy  ?"  he 
said. 

Jimmy  laughed  heartily  and  shrilly.  "It  isn't 
a  cut,  Daddy,"  he  said.  "It's  Aspinall's  enamel." 

Inspector  Giffen  banged  his  hand  down  on  the 
table  with  a  violence  that  made  every  cup  dance  in 
its  saucer. 

"That's  how  they  did  me !"  he  cried.  "The  wound 
was  painted !" 

"What  wound?"  said.Mrs.  Giffen. 

He  did  not  answer;  and  she  did  not  press  the 
question.  He  was  black  with  rage. 

He  made  a  good  breakfast,  because  it  was  his 
custom;  but  his  heart  was  not  in  it.  His  heart, 
mind,  and  spirit  were  in  his  discovery  of  the  night 
before;  he  could  only  think  of  how  he  had  been 
tricked  ten  years  ago. 

He  was  in  too  great  haste  to  get  to  the  theatre 
of  inquiry  to  take  the  District  Railway ;  directly  after 
breakfast  he  dashed  off  to  Chiswick  in  a  taxicab. 
His  brain  grew  clear  enough  when  he  started  mak- 
ing his  inquiries;  and  he  found  no  lack  of  informa- 
tion. Everyone  who  knew  Chiswick  or  Hammer- 
smith, knew  the  proprietor  of  Rawnsley's  Empori- 
um ;  his  had  been  the  most  successful  career  in  the 
district;  he  was  one  of  the  district's  leading  men. 
There  was  no  end  to  the  information  about  him ;  he 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     119 

had  been  associated  with  all  the  important  social, 
municipal  and  charitable  undertakings  in  the  dis- 
trict during  all  its  growth.  Indeed  there  was  more 
information  than  Inspector  Giffen  had  expected  or 
wanted.  Andrew  Rawnsley  had  married  Mrs. 
Rawnsley  and  founded  the  Chiswick  Emporium  two 
and  twenty  years  ago. 

At  first  it  looked  as  if  Inspector  Giffen  had  walked 
into  a  blind  alley.  Then,  pondering  the  matter  at 
home  that  evening,  he  began  to  see  the  motive  which 
had  led  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale  to  murder 
his  wife. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ANDREW  RAWNSLEY  IS  FIRM 

HAVING  once  induced  Mr.  Wilson  to  risk 
the  disturbing  effects  on  his  work  of  a  din- 
ner at  the  Ritz  and  a  theatre,  the  Marquess 
found  but  little  difficulty  in  making  this  dissipation 
a  weekly  custom.  For  such  an  exceeding  solemn 
young  man  he  could  make  a  dinner  very  amusing 
indeed.  There  was  in  Mr.  Wilson  a  vein  of  gentle, 
rather  dry  humor  which  stimulated  him  and  ren- 
dered his  entertaining  task  easier.  But,  when,  as 
sometimes  happened,  Mr.  Wilson  lapsed  for  two  or 
three  courses  into  a  trance,  in  which,  doubtless,  his 
mind  wrestled  with  complicated  problems  of  ma- 
chinery, the  Marquess  did  not  seem  to  miss  at  all 
the  stimulation  of  that  humor.  He  had  no  difficulty 
in  keeping  Nancy  smiling.  Perhaps  the  desire  to  see 
those  delightful  smiles  wreathe  her  lips  was  alone 
stimulation  enough. 

Nancy  was  not  a  brilliant  girl ;  she  never  discom- 
fited him  by  a  sudden  sparkling,  but  irrelevant,  sally 
in  the  womanly  vein.  But  she  had  a  quick  intelli- 
gence ;  and  she  surprised  him  often  by  the  swiftness 

120 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL     121 

with  which  she  saw  a  joke.  Sometimes  he  would 
hide  a  joke  in  a  mass  of  heavy  verbiage,  keeping 
his  most  solemn  face  the  while,  to  see  how  long  she 
would  be  discovering  it.  She  was  never  long.  He 
felt  that  this  was  all  to  the  good ;  it  was  really  quite 
unnecessary  that  so  beautiful  a  creature  should  be 
intelligent  at  all. 

He  could  not  always  keep  off  politics;  indeed  it 
could  not  be  expected  that  he  should;  politics  were 
his  subject.  But  since  he  regarded  them,  in  the 
proper  oligarchic  spirit,  as  a  game,  he  contrived  to 
make  even  politics  interesting,  and  sometimes  amus- 
ing. 

Since  they  interested  him,  they  began  to  interest 
Nancy.  She  would  not  only  listen  to  him  earnestly, 
her  brow  prettily  puckered,  when  he  talked  about 
them,  but  also  she  would  sometimes  read  about  them 
in  the  Morning  Post,  the  paper  which  her  uncle  so 
regularly  received  and  so  rarely  read.  Sometimes 
she  found  a  speech  of  the  Marquess  in  it,  and  read 
it. 

She  was  puzzled  (it  seemed  to  be  the  function  of 
the  Marquess  to  puzzle  her)  by  the  fact  that  the 
writers  in  the  Morning  Post  wrote  about  politics  in 
such  a  very  different  fashion  from  that  in  which  the 
Marquess  talked  about  them.  She  was  even  more 
puzzled  by  the  difficulty  she  found  in  reconciling  his 
speeches  with  his  talk. 

One  afternoon  they  were  sitting  in  Mr.  Rawns- 


ley's  garden  after  tea,  for  on  his  way  to  Chiswick 
the  Marquess  had  passed  its  owner  motoring  east- 
ward ;  and  Nancy  said : 

"I  read  your  speech  about  the  situation  in  the 
paper  this  morning." 

"Did  you?"  said  the  Marquess,  in  a  pleased  tone. 
"Did  you  like  it?" 

"It  was  very  clever,  of  course,"  said  Nancy  cau- 
tiously. "But  what  you  said  in  your  speech  was 
very  different  from  what  you  said  on  Thursday 
evening." 

"How  was  it  different?" 

"On  Thursday  you  laughed,  at  least  you  made  us 
laugh  at  the  whole  thing.  But  last  night  you  were 
ever  so  serious  about  it." 

"Of  course,  I  was.  I  am  as  solemn  as  a  judge  in 
the  House.  I  always  am.  I  practice  it,"  said  the 
Marquess. 

"Do  you  mean  you  were  humbugging?"  said 
Nancy. 

"Humbugging!  Humbugging  the  House  of 
Lords  ?  Oh,  Miss  Weston — Miss  Weston !  What  a/ 
terrible  thing  to  suggest!"  cried  the  Marquess  in  a 
tone  of  horror.  "Do  you  realize  that  possibly  the 
collateral  ancestors  of  several  of  them  may  have 
come  over  with  William  the  Conqueror  ?" 

"What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?"  said  Nancy. 

"Everything — everything,"  said  the  Marquess 
quickly.  "England  expects  its  politics  serious.  We 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     123 

must  see  that  it  gets  them  serious.  So  I  practice 
solemnity — practice  it.  I  am  solemn  for  my  coun- 
try's good." 

"Yes ;  you  did  humbug  them,"  said  Nancy,  stern- 
ly. "And  now  you're  trying  to  humbug  me." 

"Never !  I  wouldn't  dream  of  such  a  thing !"  pro- 
tested the  Marquess  vehemently.  Then  he  laughed 
his  sudden,  joyous  laugh. 

Nancy  frowned ;  then  she  laughed  too. 

"You're  getting  to  know  too  much  about  politics. 
I  have  been  indiscreet.  I  am  a  babbler,"  said  the 
Marquess,  very  solemn  again. 

"Well,  I  shan't  tell  anyone,"  said  Nancy,  care- 
lessly. 

"I  believe  you  wouldn't,"  said  the  Marquess. 
"You  are  plainly  the  soul  of  discretion." 

"Well,  it  wouldn't  do,  would  it?"  said  Nancy. 

"It  wouldn't  do  much  harm ;  it  would  fall  on  deaf 
ears.  Our  countrymen  are  impervious  to  the  truth. 
All  they  want  is  solemnity." 

"Well,  they  get  that  from  you,  anyhow,"  said 
Nancy. 

"They  do ;  and  sometimes  I  have  a  terrible  fear," 
said  the  Marquess,  and  he  paused. 

"What  of?"  said  Nancy. 

"Sometimes,  when  I  lie  awake  at  night  and  think 
— that  is  when  I  do  my  thinking — I  grow  afraid  of 
its  working  in." 

"Your  solemnity?"  said  Nancy. 


124    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"Yes,  my  solemnity.  It  would  be  dreadful  if  it 
worked  in." 

Nancy  looked  at  him  thoughtfully,  with  puck- 
ered brow.  "I  don't  think  you  need  be  afraid  of 
that,"  she  said.  "I'm  beginning  to  see  that  there's 
no  room  for  it." 

"Oh  come;  not  room  for  solemnity  under  the 
surface  of  an  Under-Secretary  for  Foreign  Af- 
fairs?" said  the  Marquis. 

"Not  in  you,"  said  Nancy  definitely. 

"I  say,  Drysdale;  can  you  spare  me  a  minute?" 
said  a  voice. 

They  looked  round  and  saw  Andrew  Rawnsley 
standing  on  the  steps  leading  down  to  the  garden. 

The  Marquess  looked  at  him  unamiably  and 
frowned.  "If  you'll  excuse  me  for  a  few  minutes," 
he  said  to  Nancy.  "You  see  it's  his  garden  I'm 
walking  about  in ;  I  can't  very  well  tell  him  to  go  to 
Jericho  in  his  own  garden." 

He  went  with  Mr.  Rawnsley  into  the  library ;  and 
Mr.  Rawnsley  said,  in  a  somewhat  threatening 
tone,  "I  told  you  that  you'd  better  let  Miss  Weston 
alone." 

"I  am  letting  her  alone,"  said  the  Marquess 
firmly. 

"You're  always  dangling  about  her,"  said  Mr. 
Rawnsley. 

"Well  you  can't  expect  me  to  live  in  a  state  of  ab- 
solute friendlessness  just  to  gratify  your  morbid 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     125 

sense  of  propriety,"  said  the  Marquess.  "Miss  Wes- 
ton  and  I  are  just  on  friendly  terms.  I  was"  par- 
ticularly careful  to  make  it  quite  clear  to  her  that 
we  could  only  be  on  friendly  terms.  I  explained  to 
her  what  I  intended  to  do  in  the  matter  of  matri- 
mony. So  do  not  say  that  I  am  turning  her  head, 
or  that  I  am  filling  it  with  nonsense,  or  that  I  am 
awakening  false  hopes  in  her,  or  that  I  am — can  you 
think  of  any  other  phrase  ?" 

"No,  I  can't,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley. 

"Then  don't  say  it,  or  even  think  it,"  said  the 
Marquess.  "There  is  no  reason  for  it.  We  are  just 
friends;  and  we're  going  to  stay  friends — at  any 
rate  she  is,  apparently." 

"Don't  you  find  it  a  trifle  difficult  in  the  case  of 
such  a  pretty  girl  as  Miss  Weston?"  said  Andrew 
Rawnsley.  ' 

"Occasionally,  I  admit,  I  do  find  a  little  difficulty," 
said  the  Marquess  lightly;  and  then  he  added  sol- 
emnly :  "But  I  am  not  of  a  susceptible  nature,  thank 
God.  I  am  strong  where  women  are  concerned — 
not  like  you.  Which  reminds  me;  where  do  you 
come  in?  You  are  of  a  susceptible  nature — very. 
I've  been  wondering — a  good  deal."  And  he  looked 
at  Andrew  Rawnsley  with  very  keen,  searching 
eyes. 

"I  don't  come  in  at  all,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley. 
"Nancy  is  related  to  me  rather  closely." 

"I  thought  that  was  probably  it,  when  I  learned 


126    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

that  you  hadn't  made  love  to  her,"  said  the  Mar- 
quess.   "How  close  is  the  relationship?" 

"I  never  discuss  genealogy,  or,  for  that  matter, 
gratify  unauthorized  curiosity,"  said  Andrew 
Rawnsley,  in  a  mocking  tone.  "If  you  came  to  me 
with  an  honorable  demand  for  the  young  lady's 
hand,  it's  always  possible  that  I  might  tell  you.  But 
since  you  only  desire  her  friendship,  there  is  no  rea- 
son why  I  should." 

"I  didn't  say  I  only  desired  her  friendship,"  said 
the  Marquess.  "I  said  that  that  was  where  we  had 
got  to." 

Andrew  Rawnsley  looked  at  him  thoughtfully; 
then  he  said :  "That  was  what  I  thought.  You're 
conducting  a  courtship  on  the  fantastic  lines  which 
would  appeal  to  you.  How  you  get  on  in  politics 
as  you  do  beats  me.  But  all  the  same,  you're  going 
to  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  it's  on  the 
square.  If  you  don't,  it's  going  to  stop." 

"Oh,  I  give  you  that,"  said  the  Marquess. 

"Well,  it's  enough  from  you.  But  you're  one  of 
the  very  few  men  in  the  world  I'd  take  it  from, 
where  a  woman  is  concerned,"  said  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Marquess.  "Who  is  Wilson 
— her  uncle?" 

"He  is  her  uncle,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley. 

"Yes,  but  he's  a  gentleman.  How  is  it  that  he 
grubs  away  in  your  power-house  inventing  things." 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL     127 

"It's  his  fancy,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley.  "He's 
a  man  of  quite  good  blood,  Wilson.  But  it's  his 
fancy  to  invent  things.  There's  not  any  need  for 
him  to  do  it  now.  He's  done  very  well  out  of  some 
of  his  inventions.  You  see  I'm  his  partner;  and 
I've  run  the  business  side  of  them  for  years.  Nancy 
will  have  quite  a  comfortable  dowry  when  she  mar- 
ries." 

"Then  why  on  earth  does  she  go  to  that  beastly 
Emporium  of  yours  and  do  typewriting?"  said  the 
Marquess. 

"Her  uncle  and  I  decided  that  it  was  the  only 
sensible  thing  for  a  pretty  girl  like  that  to  do.  It 
keeps  her  out  of  mischief.  If  she  were  knocking 
about  in  society  she'd  be  falling  in  love  with  the 
wrong  man  very  probably.  Besides,  I  want  her  to 
get  some  little  knowledge  of  business;  I  have  an 
idea  of  marrying  her  to  a  very  decent  young  mil- 
lionaire, a  quite  square  young  fellow. 

"The  devil  you  have!"  said  the  Marquess  in  a 
tone  of  considerable  interest. 

"Yes,  that's  why  I  want  to  make  sure  that  you 
kept  on  merely  friendly  terms  with  her  and  didn't 
trifle  with  her  affections,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley, 
smiling. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PAUL  MAULEVERER  TAKES  UP  THE  INQUIRY 

PAUL   MAULEVERER   sprang  out   of  his 
motor  car  with  a  lightness  which  did  credit 
to  his  fifty  years,  and  entered  the  central  door 
of  the  block  of  flats  in  Holland  Park  Avenue  in 
which  Colonel  Webling  lived.    With  his  handsome, 
clear-skinned,   high-colored  face,  his   strong  nose, 
firm  lips,  and  fine  brown  eyes,  his  tall,  broad,  well- 
set-up  figure,  he  did  not  look  a  day  more  than  forty ; 
and  had  there  been  less  light,  and  that  behind  him, 
he  might  have  looked  thirty-five. 

He  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs  to  Colonel  Webling's 
flat  on  the  third  floor  and  pressed  the  electric  bell. 
There  was  a  delay  in  opening  the  door,  though  he 
could  hear  someone  walking  about  the  flat.  Then  it 
opened;  and  an  old  woman,  very  brown,  very 
wrinkled,  garishly  dressed,  and  of  the  most  foreign- 
looking  air,  peered  out  suspiciously.  When  she  saw 
who  stood  on  the  threshold,  the  suspicion  on  her 
face  grew  deeper  and  more  hostile. 

"Master  out,"  she  said  sullenly,  in  a  cracked  voice, 
in  French. 

128 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     129 

"Ah,  he's  not  back  yet,  isn't  he  ?  I'll  come  in  and 
wait.  He's  expecting  me,"  said  Paul  Mauleverer, 
carelessly ;  and  on  the  words,  he  brushed  lightly  past 
the  old  woman,  crossed  the  little  hall,  opened  the 
door  opposite,  and  went  in. 

Colonel  Webling  had  plainly  retained  the  tastes  of 
his  exile.  The  room  was  furnished  in  Oriental 
fashion,  with  mats  and  divans ;  the  walls  were  hung 
with  embroidered  silks.  On  one  of  the  divans  was 
stretched  a  woman,  fair,  golden-haired,  almond- 
eyed,  with  features  so  perfect  as  to  render  her  face 
almost  insipid.  Between  her  lips  was  the  amber 
mouthpiece  of  the  long  tube  which  ran  to  a  bubbling 
narghileh  on  the  floor,  from  the  bowl  of  which  the 
smoke  rose  in  slow  spirals. 

Her  half -closed  eyes  opened  wide  at  the  sight  of 
Paul  Mauleverer.  A  slow,  languorous  smile 
wreathed  her  full,  voluptuous  lips,  and  she  said  in  a 
low,  delightful  voice,  in  French:  "Ah,  it  is  M. 
Paul." 

"Yes,  M.  Paul  just  coming  to  life  in  the  light  of 
your  eyes,  Madame  Zora'ide,"  said  Mauleverer, 
smiling  back  at  her. 

He  crossed  the  room  to  her,  raised  her  hand, 
kissed  it,  sat  down  on  the  divan  nearest  to  her,  and 
gazed  at  her  beautiful  face  with  the  smiling  con- 
tent of  a  lover  of  beauty  before  a  beautiful  thing. 

The  old  woman  still  with  her  suspicious,  hostile 
air,  entered  the  room,  bringing  another  narghileh. 


I3Q    THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

She  set  it  on  the  floor  beside  Mauleverer,  with  a 
sulky,  reluctant  air,  filled  the  bowl  with  coarse-cut 
tobacco,  took  a  disk  of  charcoal  from  a  blue  earthen- 
ware jar,  held  it  in  the  wood  fire  with  a  pair  of  long, 
fine  silver  tongs  till  it  was  glowing,  and  then  laid 
it  in  the  bowl  of  the  pipe.  Mauleverer  drew  in  two 
or  three  deep  breaths;  and  the  tobacco  kindled. 
The  old  woman  went  to  the  door,  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment looking  at  them  with  suspicious,  hostile  eyes, 
and  went  out. 

"The  guardian  of  the  treasure  is  very  suspicious 
to-day,"  said  Paul  Mauleverer,  smiling.  "But  when 
one  guards  such  a  treasure  as  Madame  Zoraide,  it 
is  undoubtedly  the  right  attitude." 

Mrs.  Webling,  to  give  Zoraide  the  title  conferred 
on  her  by  the  English  Law  and  the  English  Church, 
smiled  her  slow,  languorous  smile  again,  and  said, 
"Fatimah  is  a  very  foolish  old  woman." 

"Very  foolish,"  .  said  Paul  Mauleverer.  "The 
most  precious  treasures  can  only  guard  themselves." 

Mrs.  Webling  smiled  at  him.  He  looked  at  her 
for  a  minute  or  two  with  an  air  of  complete  appreci- 
ation, then  he  went  on  to  talk  to  her  of  the  amuse- 
ments she  had  enjoyed  lately,  of  the  motor  drives 
she  had  taken,  the  plays  she  had  seen,  the  res- 
taurants she  had  dined  or  supped  at.  Since  she  had 
last  seen  him  she  had  been  out  nearly  every  night; 
but  she  complained  that  she  was  lonely,  that  life 
was  dull,  that  she  had  no  friends  to  talk  to.  Maulev- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     131 

erer  objected  that  she  was  talking  to  one  now.  She 
said  that  she  only  saw  him  once  or  twice  a  week; 
besides,  it  was  not  men  she  wanted  to  talk  to,  but 
women.  In  the  harem  there  had  always  been  so 
many  to  talk  to,  there  had  been  talking  all  day  long. 
Here  there  were  no  women;  and  the  days  passed 
very,  very  slowly. 

He  asked  her  if  she  was  sorry  that  she  had  let 
Colonel  Webling  carry  her  off;  and  she  answered 
that  she  had  not  expected  this  dull  life;  besides,  in 
this  country  there  was  no  sun,  no  sun  that  gave  any 
sunshine.  As  she  talked,  his  eyes  rested  always  on 
her  face,  and  all  the  while  they  were  bright  with 
the  warm  glow  of  the  lover  of  beauty.  He  mur- 
mured that  it  was  a  pity  that  she  who  was  the  sun 
for  all  who  saw  her,  could  not  shine  upon  herself. 
She  smiled  at  his  exaggerated  compliments  like  the 
vain  child  she  was. 

Fatimah  entered  again,  bringing  coffee  in  little 
cups  half  full,  Turkish  fashion,  of  coarse  grounds. 
She  handed  their  cups  to  them  with  the  same  sullen 
reluctance. 

When  she  had  gone  Mauleverer's  eyes  suddenly 
grew  very  keen ;  but  he  said  carelessly  enough :  "Did 
you  go  to  the  theatre  last  night,  Madame  ?" 

"No;  I  was  all  alone,"  she  said. 

"I  wish  I  had  known,"  said  Mauleverer.  "I 
would  have  come  and  tried  to  amuse  you — if  always 
Fatimah  had  let  me  in;  but  I  was  expecting  your 


132    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

husband  to  come  to  see  me,  and  I  waited  at  home 
for  him.  I  suppose  he  was  amusing  himself  some- 
where else.  Was  he  very  late  home?" 

He  put  the  question  carelessly  enough,  but  his 
eyes  were  very  keen  on  her  face. 

"Yes,  he  was  very  late,"  said  Mrs.  Webling.  "It 
was  past  midnight  when  he  came  home." 

"Much  past  ?"  said  Mauleverer,  quietly. 

"No;  the  clock  had  just  struck  twelve." 

"And  he  didn't  go  out  again?"  said  Mauleverer. 

"At  that  hour?    No,  he  went  to  bed." 

"Wise  man,"  said  Mauleverer. 

The  keen,  watchful  look  faded  from  his  eyes ;  they 
filled  again  with  the  warm  glow  of  admiration.  He 
seemed  to  relax  and  settle  more  deeply  among  the 
cushions.  He  talked  on  idly  for  a  few  minutes, 
feeding  the  Circassian's  childish  vanity  with  his 
compliments.  Then  they  heard  the  outer  door  of 
the  flat  shut,  and  Colonel  Webling  came  into  the 
room. 

He  flashed  a  sharp  glance  at  Mauleverer  and  an- 
other at  his  wife,  and  said,  in  French :  "Hullo,  Mau- 
leverer! How  are  you?  Has  Madame  been  enter- 
taining you  all  right  ?" 

"How  are  you,  Webling?"  said  Mauleverer,  ris- 
ing and  shaking  hands  with  him.  "Mrs.  Webling 
has  been  entertaining  me  delightfully — as  always. 
I  was  hoping  that  you  would  have  looked  me  up 
last  night.  You  often  come  in  on  a  Thursday.  But 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THH  MALL     133 

as  you  didn't  come  I  came  round  to-day  to  pay  my 
respects  to  Mrs.  Webling  and  talk  over  a  little 
matter  of  business  with  you." 

"I  was  coming  round  last  night;  but  I  got  in  a 
poker  game  at  the  club.  Come  along  to  my  room ; 
business  will  bore  my  wife,"  said  Colonel  Webling, 
qnickly. 

Mauleverer  rose  and  picked  up  his  narghileh. 
Colonel  Webling  led  the  way  into  a  smaller  room 
on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  hall,  a  room  furnished 
in  the  same  Oriental  fashion  as  that  they  had  just 
left.  They  stretched  themselves  on  divans;  and 
Fatimah  brought  in  a  narghileh  for  her  master  and 
lighted  it. 

Then  Colonel  Webling  said :  "This  is  an  extraor- 
dinary affair,  this  murder  of  young  Rawnsley  just 
outside  your  house  in  the  Mall.  I  have  just  been 
reading  about  it  in  the  evening  papers." 

"So  far  it's  entirely  inexplicable,"  said  Maulev- 
erer. "Rawnsley — of  course  it's  the  Rawnsley  with 
whom  I  share  the  house — cannot  conceive  of  any 
possible  motive  for  the  crime.  It  wasn't  robbery — 
at  least  nothing  was  stolen  from  the  boy.  It  wasn't 
a  woman — the  boy  was  quite  of  the  harmless  and 
ineffectual  type.  As  far  as  we  know  he  hadn't  an 
enemy  in  the  world ;  and  if  he  had  had,  it  wouldn't 
have  been  the  kind  of  enemy  who  goes  in  for  mur- 
der. You  don't  find  that  kind  in  Kew." 

"His  father's  the  Rawnsley  of  Rawnsley's  Em- 


134    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

porium,  isn't  he?  He  might  have  had  an  enemy — 
somebody  taking  revenge  on  him  this  way,"  said 
Colonel  Webling. 

"No,  his  father  has  never  had  any  difficulty  with 
his  employees;  and  though  there  have  been  some 
scandals  about  him,  he  has  always  treated  the  wom- 
en quite  decently  and  provided  for  them  or  married 
them  off  to  somebody.  The  murder  is  really  inex- 
plicable," said  Mauleverer. 

Colonel  Webling  frowned  thoughtfully;  then  he 
said  slowly,  hesitating:  "I'm  not  so  sure  about 
that.  I  fancy  I  could  give  you  an  explanation — 
of  sorts." 

"The  deuce  you  could!"  cried  Mauleverer. 

"Yes.  When  Burge  was  handing  over  our  share 
of  the  money  for  Lady  Aldington's  jewels,  that 
greedy  brute,  Shore- Wardell,  started  grumbling  that 
you  were  getting  too  big  a  share  of  it,  considering 
that  you  ran  no  risks.  Then  he  began  to  ask  how 
it  was  paid  you,  Burge  told  him  a  cock  and  bull 
story  about  your  getting  it  in  two  hundred  rivers, 
for  which  you  sent  a  messenger  round  to  him  at  the 
house  in  Malkin  Lane.  Well,  I  think  that  Shore- 
Wardell  was  hanging  about  watching  the  Malkin 
Lane  house ;  and  when  he  saw  young  Rawnsley  go 
into  it,  he  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was 
the  messenger  come  for  the  notes,  waited  for  him, 
and  knocked  him  on  the  head." 

Mauleverer's   eyes   were   shining   with   a   fierce 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     135 

brightness.  "By  Jove!"  he  cried.  "That  explains 
the  book!" 

"What  book?"  said  Colonel  Webling. 

"The  book  young  Rawnsley  went  to  fetch  from  the 
house  in  Malkin  Lane.  It  wasn't  on  his  body  or  ly- 
ing near  his  body.  It  couldn't  be  found.  In  the 
bad  light  Shore- Wardell  must  have  thought  that 
that  book  was  the  packet  of  notes." 

"You've  got  it,"  said  Colonel  Webling.  "You 
don't  miss  much." 

Mauleverer  lay  back  with  a  frown  that  was  al- 
most a  scowl  on  his  thoughtful  face.  Presently  he 
said  slowly,  dropping  his  words  one  by  one :  "Well, 
I  shall  be  sorry  for  Shore- Wardell  when  I  tell  An- 
drew Rawnsley  about  this.  And  I  tell  you  what  it 
is,  Webling,  we  can't  have  this  kind  of  thing — 
we  can't  have  it.  It's  treachery.  It  must  be 
stopped." 

"You're  right,"  said  Colonel  Webling. 

"And  it's  odd  how  these  things  come  together. 
Burge  has  been  getting  insubordinate  and  threaten- 
ing treachery.  Burge  and  Shore- Wardell  have  got 
to  go.  What  will  you  deal  with  them  for?" 

"Three  hundred  apiece,  but  you'll  have  to  help  me 
fix  it  up,"  said  Colonel  Webling. 

"Yes ;  I'll  make  the  plans  and  you'll  execute  them, 
that'll  be  all  right,"  said  Mauleverer.  "But  I  don't 
want  them  dealt  with  immediately.  I  want  them 
for  this  job  with  the  young  American — Drayton. 


136    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

After  that  they  can  go  and  commit  suicide  together 
if  they  like." 

"Suicide?"  said  Colonel  Webling,  with  a  some- 
what puzzled  air.  "Why  should  they  commit  sui- 
cide? Tough  brutes  like  them  never  commit 
suicide." 

"I  have  a  fancy  that  that's  what  they  will  do,  odd 
as  it  sounds,"  said  Mauleverer,  with  a  very  curious 
smile.  "But  about  this  young  Drayton:  "I've 
worked  the  thing  out  and  what  I  want  is  that  he 
should  be  brought  to  the  house  in  Malkin  Lane  in- 
sensible and  with  his  leg  broken.  I  don't  want  a 
compound  fracture ;  I  just  want  the  tibia  neatly 
snapped.  Also  I  don't  want  his  skull  cracking ;  he'll 
have  to  be  sand-bagged;  and  that  you'll  have  to 
use  Billson  for.  Drayton  isn't  going  to  disappear 
for  much  longer  than  a  month ;  and  it  won't  do  for 
you  to  be  concerned  in  his  disappearance." 

"I  see.  There  oughtn't  to  be  much  difficulty 
about  that,  though  of  course  it  is  easier  to  knock  a 
man  on  the  head  outright  and  be  done  with  it,"  said 
Colonel  Webling. 

Mauleverer  rose,  saying:  "I  think  I'll  just  drop  in 
casually  on  Shore- Wardell  and  see  if  he  shows  any 
signs  of  his  last  night's  exploit." 

He  bade  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Webling  good-bye, 
bade  his  chauffeur  drive  him  to  Mr.  Shore- Wardell's 
rooms  in  Jermyn  Street,  and  stepped  into  his  car. 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell  was  spending  the  day  at  home. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     137 

Indeed  his  swollen  nose  rendered  it  impossible  for 
a  man  of  his  nice  tastes  to  appear  before  his 
friends.  He  had  had  a  very  bad  night.  The  pain 
of  his  nose  and  the  nervous  shock  from  the  blow 
had  broken  his  slumbers.  The  doctor  whom  his 
valet  had  summoned  early  in  the  morning  had  been 
able  to  do  but  little  to  abate  the  pain.  He  had  not 
been  out  of  bed  long,  though  it  was  half-past 
four  when  Mauleverer  called;  and  there  was  not 
a  visitor  in  the  world  he  would  not  sooner  have 
received. 

He  was  in  two  minds  about  receiving  him  at  all, 
for  he  knew  himself  to  be  at  no  time  a  match  for 
Mauleverer ;  and  in  his  shaky  condition  he  would  be 
less  of  a  match  than  ever.  But,  on  the  whole,  he 
thought  it  better  in  this  dangerous  conjuncture  to 
see  him.  There  was  no  reason  in  the  world  why 
anyone  should  connect  him  with  the  murder  on  the 
Mall;  and  if  any  faint  suspicion  of  him  had  arisen 
in  Mauleverer' s  mind,  he  thought  that  he  could  dis- 
pose of  it  by  judicious  lying. 

On  entering  the  room  Mauleverer  perceived  very 
clearly  that  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  had  had  no  reason 
whatever  to  disguise  himself  by  wearing  a  false  nose 
the  night  before.  It  was  doubtful  indeed  whether  any 
false  nose  could  have  disguised  him  so  completely 
as  did  this  grotesque  real  one.  Since  it  was  not  the 
kind  of  nose  anyone  expects  to  see  on  a  man  about 
town,  it  was  quite  natural  that  Mauleverer  should  in- 


138    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

quire  with  the  most  sympathetic  interest  how  he 
had  come  by  it 

It  had  come  by  going  to  Wonderland,  Wonder- 
land in  the  East  End,  said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell.  He 
had  gone  there  with  a  friend  to  see  the  punching; 
there  had  been  a  row  about  a  fight;  and  then  the 
audience  had  fought  amongst  itself  with  the  greatest 
possible  freedom.  In  the  course  of  that  fight  a  per- 
fect stranger  had  hit  him  on  the  nose,  and  this  was 
the  result. 

Now  Mauleverer  took  an  interest  in  the  great  na- 
tional sport  of  boxing,  and  he  knew  well  that  there 
had  been  no  boxing  at  Wonderland  the  night  be- 
fore, since  it  was  not  a  Saturday  night.  That 
knowledge  did  not  prevent  him  from  condoling  with 
his  injured  friend,  in  spite  of  his  contempt  for  a 
man  who  could  only  invent  an  incredible  story  about 
a  swollen  nose. 

As  he  condoled  he  pondered  that  nose  earnestly. 
He  knew  that  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  had  left  Malkin 
Lane  with  that  grotesque  lump  in  the  middle  of 
his  face  between  one  and  two  in  the  morning.  Had 
he  come  there  with  it  or  had  he  acquired  it  there. 
He  was  quite  sure  that  Henry  Rawnsley  had  not 
given  it  him.  He  could  not  have  hit  hard  enough. 
And  then  it  flashed  on  Mauleverer,  who  had  hit  it 
hard  enough.  As  Billson  had  given  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  the  idea  of  explaining  it  by  a  visit  to  Won- 
derland, so  the  mention  of  Wonderland  suggested 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     139 

Billson  to  Mauleverer.  On  the  instant  he  saw  what 
had  happened.  The  precious  pair  had  quarreled 
about  the  failure  of  their  crime;  and  in  the  course 
of  the  quarrel  Billson  had  hit  out.  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell's  nose  was  the  fount  from  which  had  flowed  the 
blood  in  the  back  room,  the  bathroom,  and  on  the 
bed  in  No.  16  Malkin  Lane. 

There  came  an  ugly  glitter  into  Mauleverer's 
eyes ;  and  he  said :  "Talking  about  Wonderland,  can 
you  by  any  chance  tell  me  the  new  address  of  that 
man  Billson?  He  moved  last  week  and  I've  lost 
it." 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  shakiness  told ;  he  hesitated. 

Then  he  said:  "Billson's  address,  how  on  earth 
should  I  know  what  his  address  is  ?  You've  always 
arranged  for  us  to  meet  somewhere." 

"Of  course — of  course,"  said  Mauleverer.  "But 
there  was  the  chance  that  you  might  have  learned  it 
the  night  you  traveled  down  to  Chipperfield  and 
back  with  him." 

But  Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  hesitation  had  given 
him  the  certainty  he  wanted.  Billson  had  been  the 
other  watcher  in  16  Malkin  Lane. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT 

AT  half-past  seven  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  May, 
Rupert  Christopher  Drayton  came  into  the 
Savoy  Restaurant.     He  had  arrived  at  the 
hotel  that  afternoon,  and  had  established  himself  in 
it  in  rooms  overlooking  the  Thames;  and  he  came 
to  dinner  at  this  early  and  unfashionable  hour  be- 
cause he  was  going  to  a  theatre  afterwards. 

He  came  into  the  restaurant  in  a  very  pleasant 
mood,  full  of  the  agreeable  expectation  of  spending 
six  enjoyable  weeks  in  London  and  Paris.  The  in- 
formation which  Montague  Burge  had  given  his 
confederates,  that  Rupert  Drayton  had  come  to  Eng- 
land without  the  introductions  he '  could  have 
brought  with  him,  in  order  to  see  that  country  for 
himself,  in  a  radical  spirit,  was  quite  wrong.  He  had 
not  brought  those  introductions  because  he  wanted 
to  enjoy  it  in  his  own  way,  in  complete  freedom, 
unhampered  by  social  engagements  to  people  who 
would  probably  bore  him.  He  was  a  stern  and  stren- 
uous young  fellow,  working  earnestly  at  the  man- 
agement of  one  of  his  father's  large  stores,  that  in 
Chicago ;  and  the  social  whirl  was  distasteful  to  him. 
He  loved  to  work  like  a  horse  and  play  like  one. 

140 


THB  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     141 

He  came  to  his  table ;  the  waiter  had  drawn  back 
his  chair;  and  he  was  just  about  to  sit  down  in  it, 
when  he  caught  sight  of  the  face  of  a  girl  at  a 
table  twenty  feet  away,  and  stood  quite  still,  gaz- 
ing at  it  in  overwhelming  admiration.  He  had 
gazed  at  it  for  more  than  a  minute ;  then,  probably 
because  his  intent  eyes  drew  hers,  the  girl  turned 
her  head  and  looked  at  him.  He  gazed  at  her 
steadily,  with  honest  and  frank  admiration,  forget- 
ting everything  but  the  vision  of  beauty ;  she  turned 
her  head  quickly,  frowned  faintly,  and  went  on 
talking  to  the  man  she  was  dining  with. 

Rupert  Drayton  remembered  his  manners,  flushed, 
dragged  his  eyes  off  her,  sat  down,  and  took  up  the 
menu. 

The  words  on  it  danced  before  his  eyes  in  an  al- 
most perfect  indistinctness.  By  an  effort  he  gained 
control  of  his  eyesight,  saw  the  card  clearly,  and 
said  to  the  attentive  waiter,  "Ice  pudding." 

"Yes,  sir;  ice  pudding — ice  pudding  first,  sir?" 
said  the  waiter  in  a  tone  of  pain. 

"No,  no;  soup — Bortsch,"  Said  Rupert,  impa- 
tiently. 

"You  wouldn't  like  a  little  caviare  first — to  begin 
with,  sir  ?"  said  the  waiter. 

"Yes,  caviare,"  said  Rupert,  impatiently. 

The  waiter  went;  and  Rupert  began  again,  with 
more  discretion,  to  let  his  eyes  have  their  fill  of 
beauty.  He  had  never  in  his  life  seen  a  girl,  or  for 


142     THE  HOUSH  ON  THE  MALL 

that  matter  anything  else,  so  beautiful.  He  had 
never  dreamed,  not  that  he  was  given  to  dreaming 
of  them,  that  a  woman  could  be  so  beautiful.  She 
did  not  look  at  him  again.  Indeed,  Nancy,  for  it 
was  Nancy,  in  the  course  of  dining  and  going  to  the 
theatre  with  the  Marquess  and  her  uncle,  had  grown 
used  to  the  gaze  of  frank  admiration,  and  she  took 
very  little  interest  in  it. 

She  was  dining  alone  with  the  Marquess,  for  her 
uncle  had  found  his  mind  involved  in  a  piece  of 
machinery  of  such  extraordinary  complication  that 
he  had  been  unable  to  tear  it  away  from  it.  He  was 
afraid,  indeed,  that  did  he  break  the  thread  of 
imagination,  he  might  find  it  impossible  to  join  it 
again. 

Rupert  ate  his  caviare,  but  for  all  he  tasted  of  its 
flavor  it  might  have  been  sawdust.  Several  times 
also  in  putting  it  into  his  mouth,  he  missed.  Twice 
he  tried  to  put  it  into  the  middle  of  his  cheek ;  once 
he  tried  to  put  it  into  the  cleft  in  his  square,  strong 
chin — with  equal  ill  success.  The  Bortsch  might 
have  been  a  draught  from  the  purest  and  most 
limpid  stream  for  all  he  tasted  of  it. 

The  intelligent  waiter,  perceiving  with  a  natural 
sadness  that  he  was  not  paying  that  attachment  to 
his  food  which  the  Savoy  cooking  demands,  took 
pity  on  him  and  troubled  him  with  no  further  ques- 
tions about  what  he  would  like  to  eat,  or  to  drink. 
He  gave  him  such  food  and  drink  as  seemed  to  his 


THE  HO  USB  ON  THE  MALL     143 

trained  knowledge  likely  to  do  the  fullest  credit  to 
the  hotel. 

In  this  way  Rupert  ate  a  grilled  lobster,  a  lamb 
cutlet  Valentinois,  a  vol-au-vent  Savoy,  some  inevi- 
table selle  de  mouton  du  pr&  sale,  some  chicken  en 
diable,  the  ice  pudding  he  had  mentioned  earlier  in 
the  evening,  and  some  Camembert  cheese.  He 
drank  Berncastler  Docter,  Pol  Roger  '98  (the  wait- 
er's favorite  champagne)  a  Grand  Marnier  with  his 
ice  pudding,  and  some  '70  Port  with  his  Camembert. 
For  all  the  flavor  he  got  of  these  foods  and  drinks, 
they  might  have  been  sawdust  and  water.  This  was 
manifestly  love  at  first  sight. 

He  kept  gazing  discreetly  at  the  girl's  beautiful 
face.  Now  and  again  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
was  gazing  too  frankly,  or  at  any  rate,  with  too  pro- 
tracted a  frankness,  at  it ;  and  with  considerable  dif- 
ficulty he  diverted  his  eyes  from  it  for  a  while.  He 
diverted  them  always  to  her  companion.  He  was 
quite  sure  that  he  had  never  seen  anyone  so  solemn 
in  his  life.  The  fellow  was  as  solemn  as  the  girl 
was  beautiful. 

Presently,  in  the  intervals  of  gazing  at  the  girl, 
Rupert  began  to  grow  irritated  by  that  solemnity. 
Then  suddenly  he  perceived  that  it  was  disgraceful 
that  such  a  beautiful  and  charming  girl  (He  had  no 
doubt  whatever  that  she  was  as  charming  as  she  was 
beautiful)  should  be  thrown  away  on  such  a  dull 
dog.  He  must  be  dull ;  no  one  with  a  face  like  that 


144    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

could  be  anything  else.  Also  he  must  be  a  portentous 
bore ;  he  talked  and  talked  without  ceasing.  It  must 
be  appalling  for  the  girl.  Rupert  felt  sorry  for  her ; 
he  did  not  pride  himself  on  being  able  to  entertain 
girls  with  great  brilliancy,  but  he  must  be  better  than 
a  solemn  idiot  like  that.  The  fellow  scarcely  gave 
the  girl  a  chance  of  opening  her  mouth.  Some- 
times indeed  he  waited  for  her  answer  to  something 
that  he  said,  but  that  was  all.  Rupert's  blood 
boiled;  he  knew  that  girls  liked  to  do  the  talking 
themselves.  They  had  sometimes,  not  often,  talked 
to  him. 

Every  time  his  eyes  were  drawn  back  to  the  girl, 
he  grew  cool  again.  Her  beauty  soothed  him. 
When  he  was  compelled  by  a  sense  of  propriety  to- 
withdraw  his  eyes  from  her,  his  blood  boiled  afresh. 
He  could  not  understand  how  it  was  that  that  solemn 
idiot  could  keep  her  smiling  by  his  boring  talk,  and 
now  and  again  draw  from  her  a  burst  of  the  most 
delightful,  rippling  laughter.  It  was  inconceivable 
— preposterous.  Now  and  again  the  solemn  idiot 
laughed  himself.  Rupert  found  it  one  of  the  most 
detestable  laughs  he  had  ever  heard.  There  was 
something  wrong  about  it.  He  was  a  little  while 
perceiving  what  it  was  that  was  wrong  with  it ;  then 
he  perceived  that  it  did  not  match  the  solemnity  of 
the  fellow's  face.  He  was  disgusted. 

Once  or  twice  he  felt  that  the  Cosmic  All  was 
slightly  out  of  joint ;  why  should  that  idiot  be  talk- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     145 

ing  and  laughing  with  that  beautiful  girl,  while  he 
was  dining  alone?  Whenever  the  gross  injustice  of 
this  arrangement  of  the  world  struck  him  his  face 
grew  murderous.  Once  Nancy  looked  at  him  when 
it  was  at  its  most  murderous.  She  did  not  avert 
her  eyes  immediately;  she  gazed  at  him  earnestly; 
she  wondered  whether  he  was  ill  or  whether  it  was 
merely  a  bad  conscience.  She  thought  him  a  very 
unpleasant-looking  young  man.  With  her  it  was 
not  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight 

Then  Rupert  took  a  dislike  to  the  fellow's  figure ; 
he  found  it  too  long  and  too  broad  and  too  thick. 
Then  he  took  a  dislike  to  his  hands ;  he  did  not  find 
them  broad  or  thick  enough.  Also  he  disliked  his 
clothes ;  he  found  that  there  was  an  effeminate  finish 
about  them.  Last  of  all  he  noticed  the  fellow's  feet ; 
and  they  were  the  last  straw,  or  rather  straws.  They 
were  narrow  and  not  very  long.  They  were  not 
manly  feet.  He  was  angry  with  the  Cosmic  All  and 
with  the  solemn,  but  effeminate,  idiot  with  the  beau- 
tiful girl. 

He  was  some  time  discovering  what  the  fellow's 
profession  could  be.  At  first  he  thought  that  he  was 
a  bunco-steerer,  or  at  any  rate  some  kind  of  con- 
fidence-trick man ;  he  was  certainly  a  crook  of  some 
kind — if  always  he  were  not  a  whisky-drummer. 

He  acquired  these  foundations  of  an  honest  and 
healthy  hatred,  which  he  felt  would  last  him  a  life- 
time, in  the  intervals  of  gazing  with  rapture  at  the 


146    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

girl.  He  was  not  really  interested  in  her  companion 
at  all,  he  told  himself  so.  Only  he  had  never  seen 
anyone  whom  he  disliked  more;  and  he  could  not 
gaze  with  rapture  at  the  girl  all  the  time ;  he  had  to 
look  at  something  else  now  and  then. 

He  saw  the  waiter  bring  them  their  coffee,  and 
the  man  take  out  his  cigarette  case  and  offer  the  girl 
a  cigarette.  Rupert  felt  all  the  fury  of  those  stern 
judges  who  condemned  Socrates  to  death  for  cor- 
rupting the  young;  and  he  half  rose  to  interfere. 
[But  the  girl  declined  the  cigarette  with  a  smile ;  and 
Rupert  sat  down  with  his  blood  boiling  again.  He 
felt  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  the  fellow 
ought  to  be  lynched. 

Then  a  happy  thought  occurred  to  him ;  he  beck- 
oned his  waiter  to  him  and  said :  "Say,  who  is  that 
lady  dining  at  that  table  over  there  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  the  waiter. 

"Does  she  often  dine  here  ?"  said  Rupert. 

"I've  only  seen  her  here  once  before,  sir,"  said 
the  waiter. 

"And  who's  that — that  whisky-drummer  with 
her  ?"  said  Rupert. 

"Whisky-drummer,  sir?"  said  the  waiter  in  a 
pained  tone.  "That's  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale,  the 
Under-Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs." 

"Ah,  one  of  your  effete  aristocracy,"  said  Rupert, 
bitterly. 

"Er —  yes,  sir,"  said  the  waiter. 


CHAPTER  XV 

RUPERT  DRAYTON  MAKES  A  FRIEND 

RUPERT  was  not  at  all  annoyed  with  himself 
at  having  made  a  mistake  about  the  social 
position  of  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale ;  he  was 
much  more  annoyed  to  find  that  he  was  a  Marquess 
and  not  a  whisky-drummer.  He  was  afraid  lest  the 
beautiful  girl  might  be  improperly  impressed  by  the 
fellow's  mere  possession  of  a  title.  For  the  first 
time  he  was  truly  aware  how  he  loathed  titles. 

He  was  gazing  at  them  more  gloomily  than  ever, 
when  a  large,  fat  man  rose  from  a  table  on  his  right, 
went  to  their  table,  and  began  to  talk  to  the  Mar- 
quess. Rupert  was  struck  by  the  curious  shape  of 
the  fat  man's  nose ;  it  had  an  unnatural,  bulbous  air, 
and  was  slightly  askew. 

The  fat  man  was  Mr.  Shore- Wardell,  whose  nose 
had  not  yet  resumed  its  natural  unassuming  pro- 
portions. He  was  dining  with  Colonel  Webling; 
and  like  all  the  men  within  sight  of  her,  he  had  been 
much  struck  by  the  beauty  of  Nancy.  He  had  been 
observing  her  during  dinner  with  even  more  interest 
than  he  had  been  observing  Rupert ;  and  he  devised 

147 


148     THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

an  excuse  for  speaking  to  the  Marquess  for  two  ex- 
cellent reasons.  In  the  first  place  he  hoped  that 
the  Marquess  would  introduce  him  to  Nancy;  in 
the  second  place  he  wished  Rupert  Drayton  to  see 
that  he  was  on  friendly  terms  with  a  distinguished 
nobleman.  It  was  a  sight  to  awake  trust. 

The  Marquess  did  not  greet  him  with  any  shin- 
ing enthusiasm;  he  did  not  even  smile  upon  him. 
But  then  the  Marquess  was  not  given  to  being  lav- 
ish of  smiles.  He  gazed  at  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  sol- 
emnly while  Mr.  Shore-Wardell,  himself  all  smiles, 
deference  and  affability,  set  forth  a  scheme  for  an  in- 
teresting match  at  auction  bridge  between  four 
members  of  the  Government,  and  four  of  the  front 
bench  of  the  Opposition.  The  Marquess  remained 
solemn  and  unenthusiastic,  and  at  the  end  of  the  ex- 
position said  that  if  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  liked  to 
make  all  arrangements  for  the  match,  he  would  be 
very  pleased  to  play.  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  professed 
himself  delighted  with  the  Marquess's  assent.  The 
Marquess  looked  at  him  steadily  with  unswerving, 
solemn  eyes;  but  he  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  add 
to  that  assent,  certainly  not  an  introduction  to 
Nancy.  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  withdrew. 

He  returned,  smiling  affably,  to  his  table;  and 
Rupert  observed  that  his  curiously  shaped  nose 
trembled  to  his  smile  in  a  very  interesting  way.  Mr. 
Shore-Wardell  sat  down  and  damned  the  Marquess 
heartily  for  his  insufferable  airs.  Rupert  did  not 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     149 

hear  this;  he  was  wishing  that  he  had  been  in  the 
position  to  talk  to  the  Marquess.  He  felt  that 
nothing  weaker  than  a  traction  engine  would  have 
withdrawn  him  from  that  nobleman  without  an  in- 
troduction to  Nancy. 

Then  the  Marquess  and  Nancy  rose;  and  when 
the  Marquess  put  her  cloak  round  her,  the  face  of 
Rupert  resumed  its  murderous  expression.  They 
went  out  of  the  restaurant ;  and  with  them,  for  Ru- 
pert, went  half  the  glow  of  the  electric  lights.  He 
was  in  two  minds  whether  to  follow  them.  It  ap- 
peared to  him,  on  reflection,  that  it  would  be  a  hope- 
less proceeding;  they  were  probably  going  some- 
where where  he  could  not  follow. 

He  put  a  lump  of  sugar  in  his  coffee,  which  was 
growing  cold,  took  a  cigar  from  the  box  which  the 
waiter  had  set  beside  him,  and  gazed  gloomily  round 
the  darkened  restaurant.  His  eyes  fell  on  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell  and  Colonel  Webling.  They  were 
looking  at  him,  both  of  them,  and  plainly  talking 
about  him.  Colonel  Webling's  face  interested  him ; 
it  was  perhaps  the  face  of  a  bird  of  prey,  but  it 
was  certainly  the  face  of  a  first-class  fighting  man. 
He  gazed  at  it  with  frank  interest. 

Then  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  rose  and  came  to  his 
table,  his  face  wreathed  with  a  most  amiable  smile. 

"My  name  is  Shore-Wardell — Herbert  Shore- 
Wardell,"  he  said,  presenting  his  card  to  Rupert. 
"Please  pardon  my  speaking  to  you  like  this;  but 


I5Q    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  making  a  bet  about  you — 
a  harmless  little  bet — with  my  friend  over  there; 
and  you  can  tell  us  which  is  the  winner." 

Rupert's  first  thought  was  that  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell  was  the  inevitable  bearer  of  the  gold  brick; 
then  a  happier  thought  struck  him.  This  was  an 
acquaintance  of  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale!  he  had 
just  seen  him  speak  to  him.  He  might  be  able  to 
make  use  of  him :  through  him  he  might  become 
acquainted  with  the  Marquess ;  and  once  acquainted 
with  the  Marquess,  he  was  on  his  way  to  become 
acquainted  with  that  peach  of  a  girl. 

"What  was  the  bet  ?"  he  said  politely. 

"Well,  I  bet  my  friend  a  fiver  that  you  were  a 
Drayton— one  of  the  Dorset  Draytons.  I  made  the 
let  on  your  likeness  to  General  Drayton  and  two  of 
his  sons  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell,  beaming. 

"I  am  a  Drayton ;  but  I'm  an  American  Drayton," 
said  Rupert. 

"I  didn't  know  that  there  were  any  American 
Draytons,"  said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell,  with  a  slight 
frown.  "Well,  I've  lost  my  bet,  and  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you  for  telling  me." 

He  made  a  half  turn  as  if  to  go  back  to  his 
table. 

"Wait  a  bit,"  said  Rupert  quickly,  for  he  by  no 
means  wished  to  lose  this  fortunate  chance  of  ar- 
riving at  the  acquaintance  of  the  Marquess  of  Drys- 
dale. "I  don't  know  that  you  have  lost  that  bet. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     151 

I'm  an  American  Drayton;  but  in  a  way  I'm  an 
American  Dorset  Drayton." 

"An  American  Dorset  Drayton?  That  sounds 
very  interesting,"  said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell ;  and  he 
looked  at  Rupert  suspiciously. 

Rupert  saw  the  look  of  suspicion  as  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  meant  that  he  should ;  and  he  said,  "May  I 
come  and  smoke  my  cigar  at  your  table  and  tell  you 
about  it  ?" 

"By  all  means.  I  shall  be  charmed — charmed," 
said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell,  somewhat  reluctantly. 

Rupert  rose  and  went  to  their  table.  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  introduced  him  to  Colonel  Webling;  ex- 
plained that  there  was  some  doubt  about  who  had 
won  the  bet,  since  Rupert  was  an  American  Dorset 
Drayton ;  and  they  sat  down. 

Both  of  them  were  a  trifle  frigid  in  their  manner 
to  Rupert,  frigid  with  the  coldness  of  men  who  had 
had  an  acquaintance  they  did  not  greatly  desire 
thrust  upon  them.  But  when  he  had  explained  to 
them  how  one  of  the  Dorset  Draytons  had  emigrated 
to  the  United  States  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  be- 
fore and  become  his  ancestor,  and  how  his  name  was 
Rupert  Christopher  Drayton,  and  how  his  father, 
his  grandfather  and  his  great-grandfather  had  also 
been  named  Rupert  Christopher  Drayton,  they 
thawed. 

Then  they  discussed  the  matter  of  the  bet,  wheth- 
er Mr.  Shore-Wardell  had  won  it  or  lost  it,  whether 


152     THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

in  view  of  the  fact  that  Drayton,  though  an  Amer- 
ican, was  yet  in  a  way  a  Dorset  Drayton,  since  he 
belonged  to  that  stock,  the  bet  was  off.  Diplomatic- 
ally, Drayton  supported  the  point  of  view  that  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell  had  won  the  bet.  He  was  interested 
in  him,  not  in  Colonel  Webling ;  he  desired  to  make 
Mr.  Shore- Wardell  his  friend.  In  the  end  they  took 
the  view  that  since  the  main  point  of  the  matter 
was  that  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  had  been  backing  his 
skill  in  recognizing  family  likenesses,  and  Rupert 
was  a  Drayton,  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  had  won  his  bet. 

The  Colonel  paid  over  the  five  pounds;  and  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell  insisted  on  all  three  of  them  having 
some  of  the  bottle  of  '65  brandy  which  stood  at  his 
right  hand.  They  talked  about  different  matters, 
about  Rupert's  stay  in  England  and  how  he  was  go- 
ing to  amuse  himself;  their  interest  in  the  matter, 
and  indeed  in  Rupert  himself,  seemed  purely  polite 
and  perfunctory.  After  a  while  he  considered  that 
he  was  now  sufficiently  well  acquainted  with  them  to 
invite  them  to  come  up  to  his  sitting-room  and 
smoke  their  cigars  pleasantly,  looking  down  over 
the  river ;  and  he  did  so. 

Mr.  Shore-Wardell  looked  at  Colonel  Webling 
and  hesitated ;  then  he  accepted  gracefully,  and  they- 
all  went  upstairs.  Rupert  lingered  behind  them  for 
a  moment  to  bid  the  waiter  send  up  to  his  room  the 
rarest  cigars  and  the  oldest  whisky  the  hotel  had  to 
offer. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL     153 

In  Rupert's  room  they  lost  more  of  their  reserve. 
Mr.  Shore- Wardell  indeed  grew  genial  and  full  of 
anecdote.  Colonel  Webling  asked  questions  about 
the  army  of  the  United  States.  It  was  late  in  the 
evening  before  Rupert  had  found  a  chance  of  ap- 
proaching the  matter  he  had  at  heart;  but  at  last 
the  chance  came. 

"You  know  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale,  I  think," 
he  said  to  Mr.  Shore- Wardell. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  know  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale;  I 
know  all  the  English  marquesses,  those  of  them  who 
come  to  London  at  all.  But  I  don't  know  him  very 
well.  I  meet  him  at  dinner  pretty  often  and  we  be- 
long to  three  of  the  same  clubs ;  but  I  never  dine  at 
Drysdale  House,"  said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell.  "He's 
a  rather  queer  fish,  is  the  Marquess — one  of  those 
men  with  too  many  brains,  wants  to  be  Prime  Minis- 
ter or  something  of  that  kind.  So  you  only  meet 
him  in  political  society — chiefly,  that  is — very 
dull." 

"I  want  to  make  his  acquaintance,"  said  Rupert. 
"Do  you  know  whether  he  has  many  American 
friends — I  know  a  few  Americans  over  here  and  I 
might  meet  him  at  one  of  their  houses." 

"I  should  think  he  has  as  many  American  friends 
as  everyone  else.  So  you  want  to  make  his  ac- 
quaintance?" said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell,  thoughtfully, 
and  he  looked  at  Rupert  hard. 

Rupert  found  himself  flushing. 


154    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Mr.  Shore-Wardell  suddenly  chuckled;  and  his 
face  grew  very  waggish  indeed:  "Aha!  I  see  how 
the  land  lies.  I  don't  suppose  you'd  care  a  hang  if 
you  never  saw  the  Marquess  again  as  long  as  you 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  young  lady  who  was 
dining  with  him  to-night." 

Rupert  blushed  more  deeply,  but  said  nothing. 
He  was  not  going  to  deny  it. 

"Well,  well;  young  blood — young  blood,"  said 
Mr.  Shore-Wardell  and  he  chuckled  again. 

Then  he  turned  grave  and  seemed  to  ponder. 
Then  an  expression  of  extreme  frankness  covered 
the  whole  expanse  of  his  face :  "As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  do  not  like  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale,"  he  said 
slowly.  "I  shouldn't  at  all  mind  supplying  him  with 
a  rival." 

"You  know  the  lady,"  said  Rupert,  quickly. 

"I  don't  know  her  from  Adam,  or  rather,  I 
should  say,  from  Eve,"  said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell. 
"No.  All  I  could  do  would  be  to  introduce  you  to 
the  Marquess.  The  rest  you'd  have  to  do  yourself." 

"If  you  could  do  that,  I  should  be  deeply  obliged, 
more  obliged  than  I  can  say,"  said  Rupert,  earnestly. 

"Right — right — I'll  do  that  with  pleasure.  What 
kind  of  a  game  of  bridge  do  you  play?" 

"Oh,  I  play  a  fair  game — according  to  our  stand- 
ards," said  Rupert,  firmly,  hoping  to  acquire  some 
proficiency  in  it  the  next  morning,  since  he  had 
never  played  it  in  his  life. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     155 

"You'll  have  to  be  prepared  to  play  high, 
though,"  said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell. 

"That's  neither  here  nor  there,"  said  Rupert. 

"Well,  I'll  try  and  arrange  that  you  meet  the 
Marquess  at  the  bridge-table,"  said  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell,  rising  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

Rupert  thanked  him  warmly,  but  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell  protested  that  there  was  no  need  for  thanks. 
He  said  that  he  would  only  be  too  charmed  to  play 
a  little  trick  on  the  Marquess.  Rupert  walked  down 
with  them  to  the  door  of  the  hotel  and  bade  them 
good-bye  in  the  friendliest  mood.  He  felt  that  in 
Mr.  Shore- Wardell  he  had  made  a  friend  indeed. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

RUPERT  MEETS  THE  MARQUESS 

RUPERT  went  up  to  his  balcony,  lighted  yet 
another  cigar,  and  sat  dreaming  dreams  of 
the  most  beautiful  girl  he  had  ever  seen. 
The  dreams  were  troubled  by  the  occasional  in- 
trusion of  the  solemn  face  and  stalwart  figure  of 
the  Marquess  of  Drysdale.  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  and 
Colonel  Webling  turned  on  to  the  Embankment  and 
strolled  along  it  in  that  agreeable  frame  of  mind 
which  comes  of  a  good  dinner,  good  wine,  good 
cigars,  and  the  consciousness  of  having  combined 
business  with  pleasure  in  a  most  satisfactory  and 
agreeable  fashion. 

"Well,  I  think  I  brought  that  off  rather  neatly," 
said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  in  a  tone  of  gentle  self- 
approval.  "I  did  not  need  to  make  a  friend  of  the 
young  bore;  the  young  bore  made  a  friend  of  me. 
If  I  get  him  that  introduction  to  Drysdale,  it  will 
make  him  my  bosom  friend  for  a  month."  He 
paused,  considering ;  then  he  added :  "I  ought  to  be 
able  to  touch  him  for  a  bit,  if  it  will  not  spoil  the 
Chief's  plan.  I  should  like  to  touch  the  earnest 

156 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     157 

young  dog.    Well,  that's  the  first  stage ;  what's  the 
next?" 

"The  next  is  to  deliver  him  properly  sandbagged, 
and  with  a  broken  leg,  at  No.  u  Malkin  Lane," 
said  Colonel  Webling  in  his  deep,  rich  voice. 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell.  "I  was 
hoping  that  the  Chief  meant  to  knock  the  strenuous 
young  brute  on  the  head.  Did  you  notice  the  way 
he  said :  'It's  the  mission  of  America  to  teach  the 
world  how  to  work,  gentlemen  ?' ' 

"I  did,"  said  Colonel  Webling,  gloomily.  "When 
I  was  his  age  I  had  killed  quite  a  fair  number  of 
those  Russian  swine  in  the  trenches  before  Plevna, 
and  made  up  my  mind  that  war  was  the  only  game 
for  a  gentleman.  And  this  young  sweep  works  in 
a  store,  and  likes  it.  I'll  break  his  leg  myself.  But 
the  awkward  thing  is,  that  I  haven't  been  able  to 
see  my  way  to  do  that  sandbagging  properly.  I 
shall  have  to  consult  the  Chief." 

"Why  not  combine  the  introduction  and  the  sand- 
bagging?" said  Mr.  Shore- Wardell ;  and  he  laughed 
unpleasantly  as  if  Rupert  Dray  ton's  fine  strenuous- 
ness  was  still  irking  his  flaccid  soul. 

"That's  an  idea,"  said  Colonel  Webling,  brighten- 
ing. "I'll  put  it  to  the  Chief." 

Accordingly  at  four  o'clock  the  next  afternoon 
Colonel  Webling  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  house 
on  the  Mall  and  asked  if  Mr.  Mauleverer  were  in. 
Annie  went  to  the  back  of  the  hall  and  asked  the 


158    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

question  up  a  speaking  tube.  She  came  back  and 
said  that  he  was  in,  and  conducted  Colonel  Webling 
to  a  door  in  the  middle  of  the  corridor  leading  to  the 
garden.  He  heard  the  soft  hissing  sound  of  a  de- 
scending lift,  the  door  opened  and  awaiting  him  in 
the  lift  was  a  serious,  slab-faced  man  in  the  sedate 
attire  of  an  English  valet,  the  faithful  Pettigrew. 
He  took  Colonel  Webling  up  to  the  third  story, 
opened  a  door  in  the  opposite  side  of  the  lift,  led 
him  down  a  short  corridor,  and  ushered  him  into 
a  sunny  room,  from  the  two  windows  of  which  was 
a  charming  view  up  the  Thames.  By  the  right- 
hand  window  sat  Paul  Mauleverer  drinking  his  tea. 

"How  are  you,  Webling?"  he  said.  "Will  you 
have  some  tea?" 

Colonel  Webling  looked  at  the  tea  tray  with  a 
doubtful  air. 

Paul  Mauleverer  laughed  and  said  to  his  valet : 
"Bring  whisky  and  soda,  Pettigrew." 

Pettigrew  brought  it  and  mixed  him  a  drink; 
Colonel  Webling  lighted  a  cigar,  and  explained  his 
errand  and  his  difficulty.  Paul  Mauleverer  heard 
with  a  pleasant  smile  the  story  of  how  Rupert  Dray- 
ton  had  made  friends  with  Mr.  Shore-Wardell ;  but 
when  Colonel  Webling  said  that  Rupert  Drayton 
wished  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  Marquess 
of  Drysdale,  in  order  that  he  might  further  make 
the  acquaintance  of  the  beautiful  lady  who  had  been 
dining  with  that  nobleman  the  night  before,  Paul 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     159 

Mauleverer  laughed  a  sudden,  short,  rasping  laugh, 
and  said,  "The  deuce  he  does !" 

Colonel  Webling  went  on  to  unfold  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell's  idea  of  combining  the  introduction  and 
the  sandbagging. 

Paul  Mauleverer  pondered  it  for  a  minute  or  two ; 
then  he  said,  "And  why  not  ?  We  want  to  get  along 
with  the  business;  and  there's  no  point  in  wasting 
time.  As  for  your  difficulty  in  thinking  out  a  good 
place  for  the  sandbagging;  there  can  be  no  better 
place  than  Malkin  Lane,  and  no  better  spot  in  Mai- 
kin  Lane  than  the  pavement  in  front  of  No.  H. 
Sandbag  him  there;  and  there  will  be  no  need  to 
use  a  motor-car  to  bring  him  there.  You  can  just 
carry  him  in." 

With  that  he  went  to  the  telephone,  rang  up  the 
Marquess  of  Drysdale  at  his  house  in  Berkeley 
Square,  and  found  him  in.  In  two  minutes  he  had 
arranged  that  he  should  dine  there  at  the  house  on 
the  Mall  on  the  following  Friday  and  play  bridge 
after  dinner.  Then  he  bade  the  Colonel  ring  up  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell,  tell  him  of  the  arrangement  and  bid 
him  invite  Rupert  Drayton  to  dine  with  him  that 
evening.  The  next  morning  Rupert  Drayton  was 
rejoiced  to  receive  a  letter  bidding  him  come  to  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell's  rooms  in  Jermyn  Street  at  half-past 
seven  on  the  Friday  to  dine  and  play  bridge  with 
the  Marquess  of  Drysdale.  Friday  seemed  a  long 
time  away  to  Rupert.  He  spent  much  of  his  time 


160    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

acquiring  the  needful  knowledge  of  bridge  from  a 
first-class  teacher ;  the  rest  of  it  he  spent  looking  for 
the  beautiful  girl. 

At  a  few  minutes  to  half-past  seven  on  the  Friday, 
he  was  at  Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  rooms  in  Jermyn 
Street.  There  he  found  not  only  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell  but  also  Colonel  Webling.  Mr.  Shore-Wardell 
explained  to  him  that  they  were  not  dining  and  play- 
ing bridge  at  his  rooms,  but  at  the  house  on  the 
Mall.  He  said  that  it  was  the  luckiest  chance  that 
Mauleverer  had  invited  him  to  make  up  a  four  with 
the  Marquess,  for  he  had  been  able  to  say  that  he 
was  pledged  to  Rupert  for  the  evening  and  suggest 
that  he  should  bring  him  to  make  up  the  party.  In 
this  way  Rupert  would  not  only  get  his  introduction 
to  the  Marquess  but  would  be  able  to  make  friends 
with  him.  Rupert  thanked  him  warmly. 

They  took  a  taxicab  and  drove  to  the  house  on 
the  Mall.  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  had  never  been  to  it 
before.  Always  Paul  Mauleverer  had  come  to  Jer- 
myn Street  to  give  his  instructions  about  the  part 
he  was  to  play  in  the  operation  they  had  in  hand, 
or  he  sent  those  instructions  by  Montague  Burge  or 
Colonel  Webling.  He  was  curious,  very  curious,  to 
see  the  house  of  the  Chief. 

Annie  opened  the  door  to  them;  and  they  came 
into  the  hall.  Mr.  Shore- Wardell's  appraising  gaze 
wandered  slowly  round  the  prints  on  the  walls  as 
she  took  their  hats  and  overcoats.  At  the  top  of  the 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     161 

first  flight  of  stairs,  in  a  niche  in  the  wall,  stood 
the  statue  of  a  woman.  It  came  into  the  picture 
with  extraordinary  effectiveness.  The  hall  was 
transformed;  and  the  fine  Italian  staircase  had 
gained  that  full  value  of  which  the  smallness  of  the 
hall  had  robbed  it. 

Annie  led  the  way  up  the  staircase.  When  they 
came  to  the  top  of  the  first  flight,  Mr.  Shore- War- 
dell  stopped  short  before  the  statue  and  looked  at 
it.  As  he  gazed  his  eyes  opened  wide  in  the  liveliest 
amazement.  He  stood  staring  at  it;  and  the  others 
went  on  up  the  stairs  after  Annie.  Neither  Rupert 
nor  Colonel  Webling  were  interested  in  sculpture. 
At  the  top  of  the  second  flight  they  waited  for  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell.  Rupert  was  surprised  and  even  a 
little  shocked  that  he  should  be  displaying  his  in- 
terest in  an  undraped  female  form  in  this  open 
fashion.  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  came  slowly  up  the 
stairs  to  them,  his  brow  knitted  in  a  wondering 
frown.  Half-way  up  the  next  flight  he  clutched 
Colonel  Webling's  arm  and  drew  him  back. 

"That  was  the  Cyprus  Hebe — the  stolen  Hebe — 
the  statue  that  there  was  all  that  fuss  about  three 
years  ago,"  he  whispered. 

"Wonderful  man,  Mauleverer,"  said  Colonel 
Webling,  placidly. 

When  they  came  to  the  third  story  a  corridor 
faced  them. 

Mr.  Shore-Wardell  observed  at  the  mouth  of  it  a 


1 62     THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

strong  gate  of  beautiful  wrought-iron  drawn  back 
against  the  wall.  He  took  it  that  in  the  old  days 
it  had  been  used  to  shut  off  the  children's  nurseries. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  shut  off  Paul  Mauleverer's 
rooms  from  the  rest  of  the  house. 

Annie  ushered  them  into  the  room  where  Colonel 
Webling  had  talked  with  Paul  Mauleverer;  and 
there  he  was  awaiting  them.  Mr.  Shore-Wardell 
shook  hands  with  him,  and  introduced  Rupert. 
Then  his  eyes  wandered  round  the  room  and  opened 
wider  than  ever.  In  a  niche  in  the  wall  stood  the 
statue  of  a  woman.  He  stared  at  it  and  rubbed 
his  eyes.  It  was  the  statue  of  the  Cyprus  Hebe — 
the  statue  which  three  minutes  before  he  had  seen 
in  the  niche  on  the  stairs. 

"Ah,  you're  looking  at  my  Hebe,"  said  Paul  Mau- 
leverer. "Beautiful  thing,  isn't  it?" 

"B-but  it's  t-the  same  statue  I  saw  on  the  stairs 
as  I  came  up,"  stammered  Mr.  Shore-Wardell. 

Rupert  perceived  that  it  was  a  copy  of  the  statue 
on  the  stairs. 

Paul  Mauleverer  laughed  gently.  "It  might  be  a 
replica,"  he  said.  "On  the  other  hand,  these  old 
houses  are  full  of  surprises.  One  of  these  days, 
Shore-Wardell,  I  must  show  you  the  surprises  in 
this  house." 

He  smiled  as  he  said  it;  but  Mr.  Shore-Wardell 
did  not  like  his  tone.  He  felt  rather  than  actually 
perceived  a  faint  menace  in  it. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     163 

He  went  to  the  statue  and  looked  at  it  closely. 
Mauleverer  came  to  his  side;  and  they  discussed  it. 
Then  the  door  opened;  and  Pettigrew  said,  "The 
Marquess  of  Drysdale." 

Paul  Mauleverer  drew  a  curtain  across  the  niche, 
hiding  the  statue;  and  the  Marquess  entered.  His 
face  wore  its  usual  air  of  ineffable  solemnity.  He 
nodded  to  Mauleverer  and  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell.  Mauleverer  introduced  Colonel 
Webling  to  him  and  then  Rupert.  Rupert 
found  that  the  dislike  of  him,  which  he  had 
acquired  in  the  Savoy  Restaurant,  had  by  no  means 
abated. 

They  dined  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  Pettigrew 
waited  on  them.  The  dinner  was  simple — soup, 
salmon,  lamb,  gooseberry  tart,  and  Stilton  cheese — 
a  simple  English  meal.  The  cooking  was  admir- 
able, as  were  the  wines,  Hock  and  Champagne. 
Rupert  found  it  the  best  meal  he  had  eaten  in  Eng- 
land. 

The  talk  was  rather  trivial.  They  discussed  sport, 
plays,  dancers,  dinners,  pictures  and  women.  They 
talked  chiefly  of  women  and  with  a  lack  of  the 
chivalry  to  which  Rupert  was  unused.  Two  or  three 
times  Paul  Mauleverer,  or  the  Marquess,  turned  the 
talk  on  to  the  States  that  Rupert  might  have  his 
part  in  it.  The  Marquess  seemed  to  take  no  little 
interest  in  American  institutions  and  problems;  of 
the  business  conditions  of  the  States  he  showed 


164    THE  HOUSH  ON  THE  MALL 

himself  woefully  ignorant;  and  of  English  politics 
he  never  said  a  word. 

At  the  end  of  dinner  Paul  Mauleverer  said  to 
Rupert :  "I  thought  that  since  this  is  your  first  visit 
to  England,  Mr.  Drayton,  I  would  give  you  English 
food." 

Rupert  said  that  it  was  fine;  and  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  said  that  there  was  none  better.  Colonel 
Webling  took  him  up  and  said  that  there  were  Turk- 
ish dishes  that  were  better  than  anything  English. 
The  Marquess  said  that  in  most  countries  the  food 
of  the  country  was  best.  "If  it  chances  to  be  a 
country  in  which  there  is  any  food,"  he  added. 

After  their  coffee  they  went  to  Paul  Mauleverer's 
smoking-room  to  play  bridge.  Rupert  was  feeling 
that  he  seemed  to  have  made  but  little  way  with  the 
Marquess  and  he  was  somewhat  annoyed  when  they 
cut  as  partners ;  he  did  not  wish  to  nip  their  budding 
acquaintance  in  the  bud  by  playing  badly.  But  he 
had  thrown  all  himself  into  learning  the  game ;  and 
his  play  passed  muster.  Indeed  the  Marquess  and 
he  won  the  first  two  rubbers.  This  successful  part- 
nership seemed  to  bring  them  together.  Then  the 
Marquess  cut  out.  He  sat  down  by  Rupert  and 
watched  them  play  the  first  hand,  then  he  went 
quietly  out  of  the  room.  At  the  end  of  the  rubber 
he  had  not  returned ;  and  they  went  on  playing  with- 
out him. 

Rupert  never  dreamed  that  within  forty  yards  of 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     165 

him  the  Marquess  was  sitting  in  Mr.  Wilson's  sit- 
ting-room in  the  power-house,  talking,  with  inef- 
fable solemnity,  to  the  beautiful  girl  whom  he  had 
seen  at  the  Savoy. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

RUPERT  IS  CHECKED 

THEY  were  in  the  middle  of  a  rubber  when 
the  Marquess  returned.  Certainly  there  was 
nothing  in  his  face  to  show  that  he  had  been 
entertaining  a  pretty  girl ;  he  might  very  well  have 
come  straight  from  an  interview  with  an  undertaker. 
He  sat  down  by  Rupert  and  talked  to  him,  when  he 
was  dummy,  of  the  difference  between  English  and 
American  bridge,  declaring  that  Americans  in  gen- 
eral and  Rupert  in  particular  did  not  play  a  forward 
enough  game.  Rupert  debated  the  point  amicably, 
pointing  out  that  in  the  first  two  rubbers  the  Mar- 
quess had  twice  called  a  light  no-trumper  and  lost 
the  trick  on  both  calls.  The  Marquess  cut  into  the 
next  rubber;  and  Rupert,  who  cut  out,  sat  by  him 
and  discussed  his  play,  suggesting  greater  caution. 
At  last  he  was  beginning  to  improve  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Marquess.  They  played  one  more  rub- 
ber and  stopped  though  Mauleverer  urged  them  to 
go  on.  They  stood  for  a  while,  talking,  as  they 
drank  a  last  brandy  and  soda;  and  Rupert  talked 
with  the  Marquess. 

166 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     167 

Then  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  and  Colonel  Webling 
said  that  they  must  be  going.  It  would  have  been 
natural  for  Rupert  to  go  with  them;  but  he  had 
come  to  the  house  with  a  definite  purpose;  and  he 
was  not  going  to  leave  it  till  that  purpose  had  been 
accomplished.  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  made  it  easier 
for  him  to  stay  by  saying :  "There's  no  need  for  us 
to  drag  you  away,  Drayton.  You  don't  need  the 
early  hours  that  we  do." 

When  Colonel  Webling  and  Mr.  Shore-Wardell 
came  down  the  stairs,  they  found  the  stolen  Hebe 
in  the  niche  at  the  top  of  the  first  flight. 

For  half  an  hour  the  Marquess,  Rupert  and  Mau- 
leverer  talked.  Then  the  Marquess  said  that  he 
must  be  going;  and  the  three  of  them  came  down 
the  stairs.  They  had  put  on  their  hats  and  coats, 
Mauleverer  had  opened  the  door,  Rupert  was  go- 
ing down  the  steps,  and  the  Marquess  was  on  the 
top  of  them. 

"By  Jove !  I'd  quite  forgotten,  I've  heard  some- 
thing about  Morton's  contesting  South  Manchester 
as  soon  as  Wilkinson  resigns.  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  it,"  said  Mauleverer  to  the  Marquess.  "Dray- 
ton  can  find  his  way  to  the  High  Road  all  right. 
You  don't  mind,  Drayton  ?" 

Rupert  did  mind,  but  he  could  not  say  so.  He 
said  that  he  could  easily  find  his  way  up  to  the  High 
Road. 

"You  take  the  first  turning  to  the  left,  just  at  the 


i68    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

end  of  the  garden  wall;  and  the  High  Road  runs 
along  the  top  of  it." 

"Right,"  said  Rupert. 

They  bade  him  good-night ;  and  Mauleverer  shut 
the  door. 

Rupert  went  along  the  Mall  and  turned  up  Mai- 
kin  Lane,  feeling  greatly  annoyed.  His  best  chance 
of  improving  his  acquaintance  with  the  Marquess 
had  been  snatched  from  him.  He  walked  along 
slowly,  pondering  what  next  step  he  should  take. 
He  must  hustle  things  along;  but  it  was  plain  to 
him  that  the  Marquess  lived  in  a  world  in  which 
hustling  did  not  prevail.  He  would  be  compelled  to 
move  slowly.  He  did  not  think  that  the  Marquess 
was  at  all  likely  to  call  on  him;  why  should  he? 
Their  acquaintance  had  not  progressed  far  enough. 
He  must  try  to  use  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  again.  He 
could  call  on  him ;  and  he  favored  his  design  of  be- 
coming the  Marquess's  rival.  Then  he  had  a  happy 
idea;  he  would  find  a  bridge-playing  fellow- 
countryman  and  get  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  to  invite 
the  Marquess  to  take  part  in  a  match,  Americans 
versus  English. 

Busy  with  these  reflections,  he  did  not  perceive 
that  Crinkly  Billson,  coming  up  the  lane  behind 
him,  was  on  the  point  of  catching  him  up.  He  was 
just  smiling  with  satisfaction  at  the  excellent  plan 
he  had  hit  upon,  when  Montague  Burge  stopped  him 
in  front  of  No.  1 1  with  the  request  for  a  match. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     169 

As  Rupert  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  for  his 
match-box,  Montague  Burge  knocked  his  hat  off 
with  the  cane  he  carried,  and  Billson  swung 
the  stocking-foot  full  of  sand  on  to  the  back 
of  his  head.  He  fell  like  a  log,  without  even  a 
groan. 

Billson  caught  him  by  the  shoulders,  Montague 
Burge  by  the  ankles ;  and  they  carried  him  into  No. 
n,  the  door  of  which  had  been  left  unshut  to  let 
them  quickly  in.  They  carried  him  into  the  dining- 
room  and  laid  him  out  on  the  table.  Montague 
Burge  switched  on  the  electric  light.  The  pugilist 
slid  Rupert  along  till  his  legs  projected  over  the 
edge  of  the  table,  straightened  the  left  leg  out,  and 
struck  it  a  tremendous  blow  a  few  inches  above  the 
ankle.  The  tibia  snapped. 

Without  a  word  Montague  Burge  switched  off 
the  electric  light;  and  they  went  out  of  the  house 
and  walked  swiftly  up  to  the  High  Road. 

At  the  top  of  Malkin  Lane  they  halted  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"That  didn't  tyke  long,"  said  the  pugilist  in  a 
tone  of  great  satisfaction. 

Montague  Burge  took  a  bag  out  of  his  pocket,  a 
bag  that  chinked.  "You  never  earned  a  hundred 
golden  sovereigns  quicker,"  he  said;  and  he  handed 
the  bag  to  the  pugilist. 

"I  don't  think,"  said  the  pugilist,  cheerfully,  put- 
ting it  into  his  pocket.  "Good-night." 


I.7Q    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"Good-night,"  said  Montague  Burge,  and  they 
went  their  different  ways. 

Rupert  lay  on  the  table,  breathing  stertoriously 
for  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  house  was 
very  still;  not  even  the  clock  on  the  chimney-piece 
was  ticking.  Then  there  came  the  sound  of  slow 
footsteps  mounting  the  kitchen  stairs;  and  Andrew 
Rawnsley  came  into  the  room,  switched  on  an  elec- 
tric hand-lamp,  and  ran  the  ray  of  light  along  Ru- 
pert's recumbent  form.  He  went  back  to  the  top 
of  the  kitchen  stairs  and  called  quietly  down  them.: 
"It's  all  right." 

He  went  back  to  the  dining-room ;  there  came  the 
sound  of  other  footsteps  coming  up  the  stairs  and 
along  the  hall ;  and  Pettigrew  came  into  the  room. 

"Catch  hold,  and  let's  get  him  along,"  said  An- 
drew Rawnsley,  taking  hold  of  Rupert  under  the 
arms. 

Pettigrew  took  him  by  the  feet  and  they  carried 
him  along  the  hall,  down  the  stairs,  and  into  the 
cellar. 

As  they  laid  him  down  on  the  cellar  floor  An- 
drew Rawnsley  said  earnestly :  "I  wish  these  Amer- 
icans weren't  so  heavy." 

"Thirteen  stun,  I  should  say  he  weighed,  sir/' 
said  Pettigrew. 

"Every  ounce  of  it,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley ;  and 
he  pressed  the  spring  which  opened  the  revolving 
door  in  the  cellar  wall. 


THH  HOUSE  ON  THH  MALL     171 

They  had  some  difficulty  in  squeezing  the  inert 
Rupert  through  the  narrow  opening;  then  they  car- 
ried him  down  the  steps  into  the  underground  pas- 
sage. A  few  feet  down  it  stood  a  light,  narrow  am- 
bulance about  two  feet  high  and  six  feet  long;  it 
filled  the  passage;  and  Pettigrew  crawled  over  it 
to  the  other  side.  Then  Andrew  Rawnsley  raised 
Rupert's  head  and  shoulders  on  to  it;  Pettigrew 
leaned  over  it,  and  got  a  grip  on  him,  and  lugged 
him  at  full  length  on  to  it. 

Then  it  was  comparatively  easy  going,  for  the 
ambulance  ran  along  smoothly  on  large  casters. 
They  wheeled  him  to  the  steps  leading  to  the  circu- 
lar cellar,  carried  him  up  them  and  laid  him  on  the 
floor.  Then  they  brought  up  the  ambulance,  set 
him  on  it,  wheeled  him  to  the  lift,  and  took  him  up 
to  the  top  of  the  house. 

They  laid  him  on  a  bed  in  a  large,  airy  room.  Pet- 
tigrew went  downstairs  to  the  telephone,  rang  up 
a  doctor  in  Hammersmith,  and  bade  him  come  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  bring  with  him  every- 
thing necessary  for  setting  a  broken  leg.  Then 
he  went  upstairs  and  with  the  help  of  Andrew 
Rawnsley  undressed  Rupert  and  got  him  into 
bed.  Then  he  turned  out  his  pockets.  Andrew 
Rawnsley  took  Rupert's  note-case  which  con- 
tained about  £200.  The  £20  in  gold  which 
was  in  his  trouser  pockets  he  gave  to  Petfi- 
grew. 


172    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"It  had  better  look  as  if  robbery  had  been  the 
motive  of  the  crime,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley. 

Then  Pettigrew  fetched  his  wife  to  watch  over 
Rupert ;  and  they  went  downstairs  to  await  the  com- 
ing of  the  doctor.  In  twenty  minutes  he  knocked 
at  the  door  and  Pettigrew  brought  him  to  Andrew 
Rawnsley  in  the  library. 

"Good  morning,  doctor;  I've  got  another  patient 
for  you — a  knock  on  the  head  and  a  broken  leg.  It 
looks  like  another  hundred  guinea  fee,"  said  Andrew 
Rawnsley. 

The  doctor  smiled  all  over  his  broad,  brown 
face,  rubbed  his  hands  gently  together,  and  said: 
"These  accidents — these  accidents.  I'd  better  be 
getting  to  work  at  once  before  the  muscles  stiffen. 

"Come  along,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley,  and  he 
led  him  up  to  Rupert's  room  by  a  smaller  staircase 
in  the  right  wing  of  the  house. 

The  doctor  examined  Rupert  and  said :  "Ah,  yes, 
concussion  of  the  brain — not  very  severe.  He'll 
come  to  his  senses  in  a  few  hours." 

Then  without  further  delay  he  set  Rupert's  brok- 
en leg.  He  set  it  carefully;  and  it  did  not  take 
him  very  long;  it  was  a  very  simple  fracture.  He 
gave  Mrs.  Pettigrew  some  instructions  about  keep- 
ing Rupert  comfortable  and  told  her  to  give  him 
nothing  but  milk  and  soda  till  he  came  again.  Then 
he  went  downstairs  with  Andrew  Rawnsley,  saying 
it  was  a  very  simple  case,  though  the  young  fellow 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     173 

would  probably  have  to  lie  up  for  six  weeks,  and  de- 
parted. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  went  into  the  dining-room  and 
mixed  himself  a  whisky  and  soda.  As  he  drank  it 
his  face  grew  lowering  and  grim.  He  said  to  him- 
self that  now  he  was  free  to  deal  with  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  and  Crinkly  Billson. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MONTAGUE  BURGE  SEEKS  AN  INTERVIEW  WITH  THE 
CHIEF 

THE  fury  of  Montague  Burge  at  the  loss  of 
Nancy  and  the  loss  of  his  revenge  had  abat- 
ed very  little;  it  burned  with  an  even  and 
steady  flame.  Sometimes  he  was  more  furious  with 
Andrew  Rawnsley  for  robbing  him  of  his  revenge ; 
sometimes  he  was  more  furious  with  himself  for 
not  having  been  sure  of  it  before  he  tried  to  take  it. 
He  had  grown  thoroughly  alive  to  the  fact  that 
in  his  rage  he  had  played  the  fool.  He  should  never 
have  attempted  revenge  at  all :  what  good  would  he 
have  got  out  of  it?  No,  he  should  have  used  his 
trap.  He  had  had  Nancy  in  it;  and  instead  of  fly- 
ing into  that  silly  fury  with  the  aggravating  little 
devil,  he  should  have  shown  her  that  she  was  in 
it,  that  it  rested  with  him  whether  she  went  to 
prison  or  not.  .  .  .  Oh,  he  had  played  the  fool! 
.  .  .  He  could  have  worked  on  her  terrors  till  he  had 
got  her  into  a  state  of  utter  panic.  .  .  .  He  could 
have  frightened  her  out  of  her  life.  .  .  .  She'd 
have  stopped  giving  herself  airs  quickly  enough. 

174 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL     175 

,  .  .  She  would  have  listened  kindly  enough  to  his 
wooing.  .  .  .  He  had  been  a  fool! 

But  it  was  no  good  wasting  time  being  angry 
with  himself  and  worrying  about  a  mistake  there 
was  no  mending.  ...  He  hated  Andrew  Rawnsley 
and  even  more  he  hated  Nancy.  .  .  .  The  question 
was  how  was  he  to  get  level  with  both  of  them. 
.  .  .  The  first  thing  to  do  plainly  was  to  clear  An- 
drew Rawnsley  out  of  the  way.  .  .  .  Till  that  was 
done  there  was  no  hope  of  taking  vengeance  on 
Nancy.  .  .  .  Andrew  Rawnsley  would  save  her 
again. 

Having  reached  this  conclusion,  he  gave  all  his 
attention  to  the  problem  of  clearing  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley out  of  his  path.  The  more  he  considered  it  the 
more  difficult  it  grew.  During  his  association  with 
his  employer  he  had  lost  any  objection  he  might 
have  entertained  in  more  innocent  days,  to  crimes  of 
violence,  or  indeed  to  crimes  of  any  kind;  but  he 
still  retained  a  warm  affection  for  his  own  neck. 
Besides,  the  crimes  of  violence  in  which  he  had 
taken  part  had  not  been  of  his  own  planning.  When 
he  tried  to  form  the  plan  of  a  crime  of  violence  of 
which  Andrew  Rawnsley  should  be  the  subject,  none 
but  the  crudest  and  manifestly  most  dangerous  plan 
would  form  itself.  Try  as  he  would  he  could  de- 
vise none  that  was  really  feasible  and  satisfactory. 
He  began  to  realize  that  such  plans  were  the  finest 
fruits  of  a  peculiar  form  of  genius. 


176    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Then  he  began  to  reproach  himself  for  having 
shown  his  hand  to  Andrew  Rawnsley.  If  he  did 
form  a  plan,  he  would  have  to  execute  it  in  the  face 
of  a  man  forewarned.  He  had  never  cherished  a 
high  opinion  of  his  employer's  powers  indeed,  at 
any  rate,  for  his  criminal  powers ;  all  his  respect  and 
admiration  were  given  to  this  mysterious  Chief  in 
the  background,  the  Chief  who  wove  webs  of  crime 
of  so  faultless  a  symmetry.  But  he  began  to  suspect 
that  he  might  have  under-rated  his  employer.  He 
had  looked  for  Andrew  Rawnsley  to  try  to  propiti- 
ate him;  Andrew  Rawnsley  made  no  such  attempt. 
He  treated  Montague  Burge  with  a  grim  scorn.  He 
never  uttered  a  soothing  or  placating  word.  When 
Montague  Burge  came  to  his  office  in  the  morning, 
Andrew  Rawnsley  gazed  at  him  with  coldly  hostile 
eyes  and  spoke  to  him  like  a  dog.  He  showed  him- 
self utterly  fearless;  and  his  fearlessness  began  to 
daunt  Montague  Burge.  What  if  that  mysterious 
and  ingenious  Chief,  at  his  employer's  instigation, 
were  weaving  one  of  his  diabolical  webs  round  him. 

He  began  to  grow  uneasy ;  but  like  the  bluff,  dis- 
honest Englishman  he  was,  he  did  not  soften  his 
manner  towards  his  employer.  He  was  sulky,  de- 
fiant, rebellious.  Andrew  Rawnsley  did  not  like  his 
air;  but  he  was  not  very  greatly  put  about  by  it. 
He  had  the  warmest  admiration  of  his  manager's 
knowledge  of  precious  stones,  but  of  the  rest  of  his 
attainments  he  had  a  poor  opinion.  Besides,  the 


THB  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL     177 

only  ground  on  which  Montague  Burge  could  at- 
tack him  was  his  practice  of  selling  the  jewels  stolen 
by  Mauleverer's  men  for  rather  more  than  their  full 
price,  sometimes  indeed  for  much  more  than  their 
full  price,  in  the  open  market.  And  on  that  ground 
Montague  Burge  could  only  attack  him  by  ruining 
himself.  No ;  Montague  Burge  was  a  born  subordi- 
nate, a  man  who  could  do  as  he  was  told  quite  well, 
but  a  man  without  the  power  of  initiative  at  any  time 
to  do  anything  of  himself.  Nevertheless  in  these 
awkward  and  ticklish  games  with  other  people's  jew- 
els a  rebellious  subordinate  was  not  desirable.  An- 
drew Rawnsley  began  to  feel  yet  more  strongly  that 
he  had  already  had  all  the  good  that  was  coming  to 
him  from  Montague  Burge. 

Then  Montague  Burge  had  a  brilliant  idea.  Why 
should  he  not  win  over  the  Chief  to  his  side? 
Against  him  and  the  Chief  Andrew  Rawnsley  would 
be  helpless.  It  should  be  easier  to  devise  a  plan  for 
winning  over  the  Chief ;  that  was  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness, not  of  crime.  Of  course  he  would  have  to  make 
the  Chief  see  that  it  was  to  his  advantage  to  throw 
over  Andrew  Rawnsley.  He  did  not  know  what 
share  of  the  fifty  thousand  pounds  profit,  which  the 
Emporium  was  making  out  of  the  theft  of  the  Ald- 
ington jewels,  would  go  to  the  Chief;  but  he  was 
quite  sure  that  Andrew  Rawnsley  would  secure  for 
himself  the  bulk  of  it.  Yet  if  the  Chief  and  he 
were  to  put  their  heads  together,  he  was  no  less 


178    THB  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

sure  that  they  could  devise  some  plan  by  which, 
while  he  himself  continued  to  receive  the  modest 
share  of  the  profit  that  he  was  getting  at  present, 
the  Chief  would  receive  a  great  deal  more.  Indeed, 
if  Andrew  Rawnsley  were  once  removed  from  their 
path,  it  would  not  be  difficult,  with  the  help  of  the 
Chief,  to  devise  a  plan  by  which  he  himself  should 
sell  the  jewels  they  acquired  to  the  Emporium. 
Whatever  happened  to  Andrew  Rawnsley,  the  Em- 
porium would  still  go  on;  and  he  saw  no  likelihood 
that  any  new  proprietor  of  it  would  dispense  with 
his  services  as  manager  of  the  jewelry  department. 
His  results  had  been  too  good. 

How  then  was  he  to  get  at  the  Chief?  .  .  .  Un- 
doubtedly Colonel  Webling  was  the  man  to  arrange 
an  interview.  .  .  .  Webling  knew  the  Chief.  ...  It 
was  from  Webling  that  he  had  learned  that  the 
Chief's  name  was  Mauleverer.  .  ..  .  Moreover, 
Webling  had  always  shown  himself  a  man  of  sense 
as  well  as  a  most  capable  leader.  .  .  .  He  might  al- 
most take  him  into  his  confidence.  .  .  .  At  any  rate 
he  would  sound  him  with  a  view  to  taking  him  into 
his  confidence. 

Accordingly  he  invited  Colonel  Webling  to  dine 
with  him  at  the  Ritz.  The  Colonel  was  fond  of  a 
good  dinner;  and  he  knew  that  Montague  Burge 
would  give  him  one.  He  accepted  the  invitation, 
wondering  a  little  why  they  were  dining  at  the  Ritz 
and  not  at  No.  1 1  Malkin  Lane. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL     179 

They  dined  at  eight  o'clock ;  and  as  they  sat  down 
at  the  table  which  Montague  Burge  had  had  re- 
served for  them,  the  first  person  on  whom  his  eyes 
rested  was  Nancy  Weston.  For  a  moment,  owing 
to  the  transforming  frock,  he  thought  that  his  eyes 
were  playing  him  false.  Then  he  saw  that  it  was 
indeed  Nancy  Weston. 

Then  Colonel  Webling  said:  "There's  the  Mar- 
quess of  Drysdale  with  that  pretty  girl  again."  And 
he  nodded  towards  the  table  at  which  they  were  sit- 
ting. 

"Is  that  solemn-looking  owl  the  Marquess  of 
Drysdale?"  said  Montague  Burge,  in  a  tone  in 
which  surprise,  disgust  and  anger  were  evenly 
mingled. 

"Yes ;  and  she's  a  very  pretty  girl,  though  not  of 
the  type  I  really  like,"  said  Colonel  Webling,  plac- 
idly. 

Montague  Burge  gazed  at  Nancy,  scowling.  He 
recognized  the  other  man  at  the  table  as  her  uncle, 
Herbert  Wilson.  He  took  an  instant,  strong  dis- 
like to  the  Marquess ;  and  when  he  saw  that  Herbert 
Wilson  seemed  to  be  eating  his  dinner  in  a  trance, 
that  the  talk  at  their  table  was  confined  to  Nancy 
and  the  Marquess,  and  that  she  was  plainly  taking 
the  keenest  pleasure  in  it,  his  dislike  grew. 

They  seemed  to  have  begun  their  dinnnr  some  lit- 
tle time  before  he  and  Colonel  Webling;  and  at  a 
few  minutes  past  the  half-hour  they  left  the  res- 


i8o    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

taurant.  But  they  had  stayed  long  enough  to  upset 
utterly  Montague  Burge.  He  took  no  pleasure  in 
his  dinner;  he  talked  in  a  jerky,  absent-minded  fash- 
ion; and  in  the  end  he  came  to  his  delicate  negoti- 
ations with  Colonel  Webling  in  an  unfortunate  con- 
dition of  consuming  irritation. 

Colonel  Webling,  on  the  contrary,  came  to  them 
with  all  his  wits  about  him.  He  had  brought  to 
the  appreciation  of  that  excellent  dinner  the  fine 
Oriental  calm  he  had  acquired  in  the  service  of  the 
Sultan;  and  nothing  had  disturbed  it.  The  jerki- 
ness  and  absent-mindedness  of  his  host  had  awak- 
ened not  only  his  curiosity  but  his  caution.  He  fdt 
that  Montague  Burge  was  going  to  discuss  with 
him  a  matter  of  considerable  importance. 

It  came  about  then  that  Montague  Burge 
broached  the  subject  with  far  greater  abruptness  and 
much  less  sounding  than  he  had  intended. 

"I've  been  thinking  that  Shore-Wardell  was 
quite  right  when  he  said  that  we  ought  to  get 
a  much  bigger  share  of  the  proceeds  of  the  jewels 
we  keep  getting  hold  of,"  he  said  suddenly, 
frowning. 

"I  seem  to  get  a  very  good  share,"  said  Colonel 
Webling,  carelessly. 

"But  you  ought  to  get  more.  We  all  ought  to 
get  more,"  said  Montague  Burge,  in  a  tone  of  great 
decision. 

"We  ought,  ought  we  ?"  said  Colonel  Webling  in 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     181 

a  tone  of  some  indifference,  examining  with  ap- 
proving eyes  the  ash  of  his  cigar. 

"Yes,  we  ought,"  said  Montague  Burge,  with 
even  greater  emphasis.  "The  fact  is  there's  no  need 
for  old  Rawnsley — no  need  whatever." 

"Who  is  old  Rawnsley?"  said  Colonel  Webling 
with  a  little  more  interest,  removing  his  keen  eyes 
swiftly  from  the  ash  of  his  cigar  to  the  face  of  his 
host.  He  had  sometimes  wondered  about  the  man 
with  whom  Paul  Mauleverer  shared  the  House  on 
the  Mall. 

Montague  Burge  hesitated.  He  had  not  meant  to 
plunge  into  the  middle  of  things  quite  like  this. 
Besides,  Colonel  Webling  was  evidently  less  in  the 
confidence  of  the  Chief  than  he  had  supposed.  But 
he  had  started,  and  he  had  to  go  on. 

"He's  the  man  who  buys  the  jewels  we  get  hold 
of,  and  makes  a  tremendous  profit  on  them,"  he 
said. 

"I  see ;  the  fence,"  said  Colonel  Webling. 

"Yes;  and  there's  no  need  for  him,  none  what- 
ever. I  can  sell  the  jewels  to  the  same  customers 
as  he  does ;  and  I  can  get  as  much  money  for  them 
as  he  does.  All  that  extra  money  would  come  to  us. 
It  would  make  a  difference  of  thousands." 

"The  deuce  it  would !"  said  Colonel  Webling. 

"Yes;  old  Rawnsley  is  just  an  extra,  unnecessary- 
person  taking  a  big  lump  of  the  profits.  If  he  were 
out  of  the  way  there'd  be  more  for  all  of  us;  and 


182    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

I  want  to  see  the  Chief  and  talk  it  over  with  him." 

"Do  you?"  said  Colonel  Webling;  and  his  keen 
eyes  seemed  suddenly  to  go  dull  and  a  trifle  sleepy. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Montague  Burge,  firmly. 
"Where  does  he  live?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Colonel  Webling.  "When 
there  is  anything  on,  he  always  comes  round  to  my 
place  and  tells  me  there  what  we're  to  do." 

"Well,  when  the  Chief  hears  what  I  want  to  dis- 
cuss with  him,  he'll  be  anxious  to  talk  it  over  with 
me,"  said  Montague  Burge,  with  great  decision.  "I 
want  you  to  put  it  to  him  and  arrange  an  interview." 

"I  see;  well,  I'll  do  my  best  to  arrange  it,"  said 
Colonel  Webling. 

Montague  Burge  was  not  satisfied  with  this  as- 
surance ;  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  with  business- 
like persistence  he  continued  to  urge  the  Colonel 
to  arrange  the  interview.  In  the  end  his  persistence 
bored  Colonel  Webling  exceedingly;  he  grew  tired 
of  repeating  his  assurance  that  he  would  do  his  best. 
At  last,  out  of  sheer  boredom,  he  ceased  to  pay  any 
heed  to  what  Montague  Burge  was  saying.  He 
simply  enjoyed  his  cigars  and  brandy  and  soda,  and 
thought  of  more  pleasant  things.  As  they  parted 
at  half-past  eleven  at  the  door  of  the  Ritz,  Montague 
Burge  was  still  dwelling  on  the  subject.  His  last 
words  were :  "You'll  be  sure  and  use  every  effort  to 
make  the  Chief  see  me,  me  personally.  We  must 
clear  Andrew  Rawnsley  out  of  the  way." 


THB  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     183 

For  all  Montague  Burge's  adjurations,  Colonel 
Webling  did  not  put  himself  about  to  convey  his 
request  to  Paul  Mauleverer.  He  saw  no  urgency 
in  the  matter,  for  he  was  strongly  of  the  opinion 
that  were  anything  to  be  gained  by  getting  rid  of 
this  man  Rawnsley,  Paul  Mauleverer  would  have 
seen  it  long  before  Montague  Burge.  But  an  op- 
portunity of  conveying  that  worthy's  message  pre- 
sented itself  to  him  almost  immediately;  and  he  took 
it. 

It  was  an  opportunity  which  gave  him  no  pleas- 
ure at  all.  Two  afternoons  later  he  returned  home 
unexpectedly  at  the  hour  which  he  was  wont  to  de- 
vote to  a  game  of  poker  at  the  Fossickers'  Club. 
He  found  Paul  Mauleverer  stretched  on  a  divan, 
smoking  a  narghileh,  with  a  cup  of  coffee  by  his 
side,  talking  with  lively  animation  to  Mrs.  Webling. 
Colonel  was  more  annoyed  than  surprised  at  the 
sight.  He  was  indeed  very  deeply  annoyed;  and 
he  greeted  them,  frowning.  Zoraide  looked  con- 
fused ;  perhaps  his  frown  confused  her.  Paul  Mau- 
leverer greeted  him  with  pleasant  unconcern. 

"I  came  up  on  the  chance  of  finding  you  in,"  he 
said.  "I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about  that  little  mat- 
ter of  Shore-Wardell." 

"Why  didn't  you  ring  me  up,  here  or  at  the  club, 
and  let  me  know  you  were  coming?  Come  along 
into  my  room,"  said  Colonel  Webling;  and  there 
was  no  welcoming  warmth  in  his  voice. 


184    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Paul  Mauleverer  picked  up  his  narghileh  and 
came. 

As  he  settled  himself  down  on  the  divan,  Colonel 
Webling  said :  "I  have  been  meaning  to  ring  you 
up,  or  come  and  see  you ;  our  friend  Burge  is  very 
keen  on  having  a  talk  with  you." 

"Is  he?"  said  Paul  Mauleverer,  shortly. 

"Yes;  he  has  a  scheme  which  he  says  will  be 
greatly  to  your  advantage — to  the  advantage  of  us 
all." 

"Has  he  ?"  said  Paul  Mauleverer  without  any  en- 
thusiasm. "What  is  it?" 

"He  wants  to  get  rid  of  a  man  of  the  name  of 
Rawnsley — your  fence.  He  says  that  he  can  do 
everything  that  Rawnsley  does,  and  we  can  save 
Rawnsley's  share  of  the  loot  for  ourselves,"  said 
Colonel  Webling;  and  he  still  gazed  at  Mauleverer 
with  gloomy  eyes. 

"Is  that  all?"  snarled  Paul  Mauleverer.  "Well, 
you  can  tell  him  from  me  that  Rawnsley  is  of  more 
use  to  me  than  a  dozen  Burges.  Burge  knows  that 
he  is.  I  see  his  game;  he's  been  telling  you  this 
story  to  make  you  dissatisfied.  Look  here;  I  said 
the  other  day  that  Burge  was  getting  unsafe  and 
had  better  go.  He'd  better  go  quicker  than  I 
thought.  In  fact,  Webling,  he  shall  take  precedence 
of  Shore- Wardell." 

"Well,  it's  always  three  hundred  pounds,"  said 
Colonel  Webling,  brightening. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

RUPERT  MEETS  NANCY 

THE  next  morning  the  doctor  put  Rupert's 
broken  leg  into  plaster  of  Paris;  and  for 
the  next  three  days,  what  with  his  aching 
head  and  his  aching  leg,  Rupert  was  very  miserable 
indeed.  At  night  he  had  much  more  fever  than 
sleep ;  and  the  day  was  no  better.  His  mind  cleared 
slowly;  but  he  could  not  remember  how  he  had 
come  where  he  was.  Mrs.  Pettigrew  could  only 
tell  him  that  he  had  been  found  lying  in  Malkin 
Lane,  insensible  and  with  a  broken  leg,  and  that 
her  master,  Mr.  Rawnsley,  had  had  him  brought  to 
his  house  and  sent  for  a  doctor.  The  doctor,  who 
came  every  day,  could  throw  no  more  light  on  the 
matter. 

Rupert  could  understand  his  aching  head,  for  it 
was  clear  enough  that  he  had  been  sandbagged.  But 
his  broken  leg  was  a  puzzle  to  him;  he  could  not 
conceive  how  it  had  been  broken.  The  thieves  had 
cleared  his  pockets ;  why  should  they  break  his  leg  ? 
It  must  have  been  sheer  clumsiness.  But  how  had 
they  found  an  opportunity  to  be  so  clumsy  with  a 
sandbagged  and  insensible  man. 

185 


186    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

He  spent  most  of  the  three  days  and  nights,  try- 
ing to  find  a  position  in  which  he  could  lie  com- 
fortably. It  was  a  difficult  task  and  kept  him  fully 
occupied.  He  was,  fortunately,  in  as  healthy  a  con- 
dition as  so  strenuous  a  worker  could  expect  to  be ; 
and  the  aching  of  his  head  at  last  passed  away,  the 
aching  of  his  leg  grew  duller.  On  the  morning  of 
the  fourth  day,  he  slept  for  three  hours  without 
awaking  once ;  and  he  awoke  in  a  far  more  cheerful 
frame  of  mind.  That  cheerfulness  did  not  last  long ; 
he  was  now  in  a  condition  to  realize  that  he  was 
losing  the  golden  hours  he  had  intended  to  employ 
in  making  his  way  through  the  Marquess  of  Drys- 
dale  to  the  beautiful  girl  he  had  seen  in  the  Savoy 
Restaurant.  It  was  a  bitter  thought;  and  in  about 
an  hour  he  had  chafed  himself  into  a  high  tempera- 
ture. However  that  night  he  enjoyed  four  hours 
unbroken  sleep. 

The  next  day  after  lunch,  Mr.  Rawnsley,  benev- 
olent and  beaming,  appeared  at  his  bedside,  intro- 
duced himself  and  congratulated  him  on  having  got 
over  the  worst  of  his  troubles.  Rupert  wanted  to 
thank  him  for  the  kindness  with  which  he  had 
played  the  good  Samaritan.  But  Mr.  Rawnsley  re- 
fused to  be  thanked.  Rupert  asked  him  how  he 
had  been  brought  to  the  house. 

Mr.  Rawnsley  told  him  that  a  Mr.  Burge,  the 
manager  of  the  Jewelry  Department  of  his  Empori- 
um, returning  home  late  at  night,  had  found  him 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     187 

lying  insensible  on  the  pavement  in  the  middle  of 
Malkin  Lane,  and  had  carried  him  into  his  house, 
No.  ii.  Then  he  had  come  round  to  the  house  on 
the  Mall  to  borrow  a  motor-car  to  take  him  to  a 
hospital.  Mr.  Rawnsley  had  had  him  brought  to  the 
house  on  the  Mall  instead;  and  with  his  venerable 
air,  Mr.  Rawnsley  looked  the  very  man  to  play  the 
good  Samaritan  in  this  noble  fashion.  Then  he 
asked  him  how  he  had  come  to  be  in  this  neighbor- 
hood so  late ;  and  Rupert  told  him  that  he  had  been 
playing  bridge  at  the  house  of  a  Mr.  Mauleverer. 

"But  this  is  amazing!"  cried  Mr.  Rawnsley.  "You 
were  playing  bridge  in  this  house.  Mauleverer 
shares  it  with  me.  He  has  been  out  of  town  since 
the  morning  after  your  misfortune,  and  so  has  heard 
nothing  about  it." 

Rupert  agreed  that  it  was  indeed  amazing;  and 
when  they  came  to  work  out  the  details  of  the  crime, 
they  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Marquess  of 
Drysdale  must  have  passed  up  Malkin  Lane  a  few 
minutes  after  Mr.  Burge  had  carried  Rupert  into 
No.  ir.  Then  they  discussed  the  matter  of  the 
broken  leg  which  was  still  puzzling  Rupert.  Mr. 
Rawnsley  was  of  the  opinion  that  he  had  broken 
it  in  falling.  Rupert  was  quite  sure  that  his  was  not 
the  kind  of  leg  which  a  mere  fall  would  break.  The 
matter  was  left  in  its  obscurity. 

When  Mr.  Rawnsley  learned  that  Rupert  was  the 
son  of  the  Drayton,  the  multi-millionaire  depart- 


i88    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

ment-store  proprietor,  of  Chicago,  he  was  more  in- 
terested in  him  than  ever.  He  beamed  on  him  broad- 
ly as  he  explained  that  he  was  the  proprietor  of  a 
department  store  himself,  and  had  drawn  many  of 
his  methods  of  managing  it  from  those  followed, 
and  indeed  devised,  by  the  Drayton  firm  in  Chicago. 
He  was  very  pleased  to  learn  that  Rupert  was  his 
father's  partner  and  took  a  great  part  in  the  work 
of  the  store.  He  promised  himself  many  pleasant 
conversations  with  his  young  confrere.  Before 
leaving  him  he  asked  Rupert  if  he  would  not  like 
someone  to  read  to  him.  But  Rupert,  desiring  to 
enjoy  undisturbed  some  dreams  of  the  beauti- 
ful friend  of  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale,  declined 
the  offer.  He  did  not  know  what  he  was  de- 
clining. 

He  slept  well  that  night;  and  he  awoke  next 
morning  quite  himself  again,  barring  his  weakness 
and  his  aching  leg.  But  the  better  he  grew  the 
more  he  chafed  at  being  chained  to  his  bed,  wast- 
ing the  golden  hours.  It  grew  plain  to  him  that  to 
give  himself  every  chance  with  that  beautiful  girl 
he  might  have  to  remain  several  months  in  Eng- 
land instead  of  the  six  weeks  he  had  allowed  him- 
self. He  chafed  again  at  this,  for  he  was  loth  to 
leave  for  so  long  the  work  he  loved. 

That  morning,  after  he  had  signed  his  letters, 
Mr.  Rawnsley  said  to  Nancy:  "This  afternoon  I 
want  you  to  read  for  an  hour  or  two  to  a  young 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     189 

friend  of  mine.  He's  laid  up  in  my  house  with  a 
broken  leg." 

"Yes,  sir;  what  time  shall  I  read  to  him?"  said 
Nancy. 

"From  about  half-past  two  till  half-past  four.  A 
couple  of  hours  will  be  plenty,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley. 

Nancy  was  relieved  to  hear  that  she  would  be 
free  at  half -past  four.  The  Marquess  was  coming 
to  tea ;  and  she  did  not  wish  to  be  away  from  home. 
She  felt  that  she  could  not  trust  her  uncle  to  give 
him  his  tea  as  he  liked  it. 

"You'll  be  nice  to  my  friend?"  said  Mr.  Rawns- 
ley. "His  leg  has  given  him  a  good  deal  of  pain." 

"Oh,  yes;  of  course  I  shall  be  nice  to  him,"  said 
Nancy. 

"Very  nice,"  said  Mr.  Rawnsley;  and  he  beamed 
on  her  with  great  benevolence. 

"Yes,"  said  Nancy,  wondering  why  her  employer 
should  make  such  a  point  of  her  doing  such  an  ob- 
vious thing. 

"I  think  you  will  do  him  good — cheer  him  up," 
said  Mr.  Rawnsley. 

When  Mrs.  Pettigrew  ushered  her  into  Rupert's 
room  at  half-past  two  she  found  him  sleeping  peace- 
fully. She  was  not  greatly  attracted  by  his  face; 
but  that  was  not  the  fault  of  his  features.  Its  lack 
of  attraction  was  owing  to  the  fact  that  he  had  a  six 
days'  beard  on  his  chin. 

She  did  not  think  it  right  to  wake  an  invalid; 


I9Q    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

she  sat  quietly  down  by  the  side  of  his  bed  and  be- 
gan to  read  the  book,  "Old  Gordon  Graham,"  which 
Mr.  Rawnsley  had  given  Mrs.  Pettigrew  to  give 
her,  as  being  a  book  very  cheering  to  an  invalid. 
She  presently  became  so  absorbed  in  it  that  she  for- 
got all  about  Rupert. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Rupert  awoke,  opened 
his  eyes,  and  they  fell  on  Nancy's  face.  He  thought 
that  he  was  dreaming,  and  he  kept  very  still  lest 
he  should  disturb  the  vision.  In  a  little  more  than 
a  minute  the .  conviction  seized  him  that  he  was 
awake.  Then  he  found  himself  unable  to  believe 
his  eyes  though  they  were  as  wide  open  as  they 
could  possibly  be.  He  kept  still  for  another  minute. 
His  eyes  refused  to  present  anything  to  him  but  the 
face  of  Nancy.  He  rubbed  them  cautiously.  It 
was  not  a  vision;  it  was  the  beautiful  girl  of  the 
Savoy  Restaurant! 

He  lay  quite  still  and  silent  for  two  or  three  min- 
utes, letting  his  eyes  have  their  fill  of  delight.  Pres- 
ently he  began  to  desire  to  hear  her  voice;  and  he 
coughed.  Nancy  raised  her  head  and  smiled  at  him. 
The  smile  dazzled  him;  he  blinked. 

"You're  awake  at  last,"  said  Nancy,  smiling  at 
him  again.  "I  didn't  like  to  wake  you  because  the 
more  sleep  an  invalid  gets  the  better  it  is  for  him. 
Would  you  like  me  to  read  to  you?" 

"I'd  rather  you  talked  to  me,"  said  Rupert. 

Nancy  looked  at  him  and  knitted  her  brow.     On 


run  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL   191 

being  called  on  to  talk,  every  subject,  very  naturally, 
slipped  out  of  her  head  with  graceful  alacrity.  She 
flushed  a  little  under  his  steady,  frank  gaze.  "What 
do  you  want  me  to  talk  about?"  she  said. 

"About  yourself,"  said  Rupert,  promptly. 

Nancy  was  somewhat  at  a  loss.  At  the  moment 
she  could  not  think  of  anything  about  herself  to  tell 
him.  Besides,  she  did  not  know  that  she  wanted  to 
talk  about  herself  to  this  somewhat  bearded  stran- 
ger, even  though  he  was  an  invalid  and  ought  to  be 
humored.  She  smiled  and  said:  "No,  let's  talk 
about  you.  That  will  be  much  more  interesting; 
you're  an  American,  aren't  you?  And  I  never  met 
an  American  before  in  my  life." 

"You  never  met  an  American?"  said  Rupert, 
amazed. 

"I've  always  lived  in  the  country  till  lately,"  said 
Nancy. 

"Was  it  a  romantic  spot  ?"  said  Rupert. 

Nancy  smiled.  "It  was  very  pretty/r  she  said. 
"But  I  don't  know  about  its  being  romantic.'* 

"Wasn't  there  an  old  feudal  castle,  or  a  ruined 
abbey  there?"  said  Rupert. 

"I  don't  think  there  was  a  castle  or  a  ruin  for 
ten  miles  round,  only  old  Roman  camps ;  and  they're 
just  mounds  and  banks  and  ditches,"  said  Nancy. 

"I  thought  that  there  were  ruins  all  about  the 
country  in  England,"  said  Rupert.  "But  you  your- 
self, I  suppose,  lived  in  an  old  manor  house." 


192    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"Oh,  no;  I  lived  in  a  cottage — at  least  it  was 
called  Myrtle  Cottage,  though  it  had  eight  rooms," 
said  Nancy.  "Only  rich  people  live  in  manor 
houses ;  and  my  aunt  wasn't  rich.  I'm  Mr.  Rawns- 
ley's  secretary." 

Rupert  was  surprised.  Since  he  had  seen  her 
dining  with  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale  he  had  nat- 
urally jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  she  was  a  lady 
of  good  birth,  one  of  the  aristocracy,  perhaps  titled. 

"But  I  saw  you  dining  with  the  Marquess  of 
Drysdale  at  the  Savoy  Restaurant,"  he  said  in  tones 
which  revealed  his  surprise. 

"Did  you?  That's  curious,"  said  Nancy, 
flushing  a  little.  "I  don't  remember  seeing  you 
there." 

Since,  when  her  eyes  had  chanced  to  fall  on  him 
during  that  dinner,  his  face  had  been  at  its  most 
murderous,  and  clean-shaven,  it  was  not  unnatural 
that  she  should  fail  to  recognize  it  now  that  it  was 
pleasant  and  somewhat  bearded.  Yet  Rupert  was 
disappointed;  he  had  hoped  that  his  face  had  made 
at  least  so  much  impression  on  her  that  she  had  re- 
membered it. 

"Didn't  you?"  he  said,  rather  gloomily;  then  he 
hesitated,  and  added :  "But  you  were  dining  with 
the  Marquess  of  Drysdale." 

"Oh,  yes;  he's  a  friend — a  friend  of  my  uncle. 
Only  my  uncle  couldn't  go  with  us  that  evening," 
said  Nancy,  flushing  again. 


run  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL   193 

"Ah,  Mr.  Rawnsley's  your  uncle,  is  he?"  said 
Rupert. 

"No,  no;  my  uncle's  name  is  Wilson.  He's  the 
engineer  of  Mr.  Rawnsley's  power-house,  which 
lights  this  house  and  the  Emporium  and  works 
the  lifts.  Mr.  Rawnsley  built  the  power-house  be- 
fore there  were  any  electric  companies  near — years 
ago." 

Rupert  was  puzzled.  It  seemed  to  him  strange  that 
the  niece  of  the  engineer  of  the  power-house  of  a 
store  should  dine  with  a  marquess  at  a  fashionable 
restaurant.  He  had  had  an  idea  that  English  noble- 
men were  arrogant,  except  when  it  was  a  question 
of  marrying  the  daughters  of  American  millionaires. 

"I've  met  the  Marquess — the  night  I  got  my  leg 
broken.  He's  a  solemn  sort  of  dub ;  it  must  be  pret- 
ty dull  dining  with  him,"  said  Rupert,  thoughtfully. 

"No,  it  isn't.  He's  not  nearly  as  solemn  as  he 
looks,"  protested  Nancy. 

This  was  what  Rupert  had  feared,  and  he 
frowned. 

Nancy,  who  was  somewhat  eager  to  get  away 
from  the  subject  of  the  Marquess,  asked  him  how 
he  had  come  to  break  his  leg ;  and  .he  told  her  the 
mysterious  story.  She  was  full  of  the  liveliest  inter- 
est and  sympathy ;  and  he  found  her  concern  indeed 
delightful.  Then  she  perceived  that  he  was  tired, 
and  insisted  that  he  should  stop  talking  and  let  her 
read  him  to  sleep.  She  did  read  to  him ;  but  he  did 


194    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

not  sleep,  nor  did  he  listen  with  any  great  intent- 
ness  to  the  story.  He  was  enjoying  the  play  of 
changing  expression  on  her  beautiful  face  and  the 
delightful  tones  of  her  voice.  At  half-past  four 
she  left  him;  she  could  not  let  her  uncle  give  the 
Marquess  his  tea. 

Rupert  did  not  go  to  sleep ;  he  lay  thinking  about 
her.  His  ideas  needed  to  be  readjusted.  He  had 
had  it  in  his  mind  that  she  was  an  English  aristo- 
crat; and  now  he  learned  that  she  was  a  girl  who 
earned  her  own  living.  His  feelings  were  somewhat 
mixed.  In  his  lover's  dreams  he  had  seen  himself 
bearing  off  the  most  beautiful  and  best-born  daugh- 
ter of  the  English  aristocracy;  and  in  those  dreams 
it  had  been  a  splendid  feat,  but  bristling  with  dif- 
ficulties. It  would  surely  be  easier  to  win  a  working 
girl.  Nevertheless  for  a  while  he  fancied  that  he 
hankered  after  the  splendid  feat.  Then  her  beauti- 
ful face  came  floating  again  before  the  eyes  of  his 
mind ;  and  he  saw  quite  clearly  that  what  he  wanted 
was  Nancy  herself,  and  it  did  not  make  a  pin's  dif- 
ference whether  she  were  an  English  aristocrat  or  a 
working  girl. 

Then  he  congratulated  himself  on  the  fact  that 
she  was  a  working  girl;  it  would  make  his  task 
easier — to  the  working  girl  the  worker  appeals. 
Suddenly  he  thought  of  the  Marquess,  and  quivered 
to  a  spasm  of  jealousy.  Then  he  began  to  wonder. 
...  A  marquess  and  a  working  girl  ?  .  .  .  Was  it 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     195 

quite  on  the  square?  .  .  .  These  marquesses  had  a 
bad  name.  .  .  .  Could  that  solemn  idiot  be  fooling 
Nancy  ? 

A  flame  of  indignant  rage  flashed  up  in  him;  if 
the  Marquess  of  Drysdale  was  trying  to  fool  Nancy, 
he  would  find  himself  uo  against  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  TROUBLES  OF  INSPECTOR  GIFFEN 

THE  world  was  not  going  well  with  Inspector 
Giffen.  More  than  six  weeks  had  passed 
since  Lady  Aldington  had  been  kidnapped 
and  robbed  of  thirty  thousand  pounds  worth  of 
jewels;  and  the  Inspector  had  not  found  the  slight- 
est clue  to  one  of  the  three  grey-bearded  men  who 
had  perpetrated  the  crime.  They  seemed  to  have 
risen  out  of  the  earth  in  Rutland  Gate  and  sunk  into 
it  again  on  Chipperfield  Common. 

He  had  worked  on  his  theory  that  it  had  been 
the  work  of  American  crooks  and  had  got  nothing 
by  it.  The  American  crooks  staying  in  the  big  ho- 
tels had  been  watched,  for  that  matter  they  were 
always  being  watched;  and  all  possible  inquisition 
had  been  made  into  their  doings  on  the  night  of  the 
twenty-first  of  April. 

No  less  careful  attention  had  been  paid  to  the 
American  crooks  staying  in  the  boarding-houses  in 
Bloomsbury  or  in  rooms  round  Leicester  Square. 
The  better  class  criminals  of  England  had  not  been 
neglected;  the  most  careful  investigations  had  been 

196 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     197 

made  into  the  occupations  on  the  night  of  the  rob- 
bery of  all  of  them  the  police  knew  to  be  capable 
of  working  out  so  audacious  a  crime.  Inspector 
Giffen  had  had  the  assistance  of  three-quarters  of 
the  whole  of  the  detective  force  of  London.  Both 
Lord  and  Lady  Aldington  had  friends  who  could 
put  pressure  on  the  heads  of  Scotland  Yard;  and 
they  were  putting  it.  But  all  these  inquisitions  and 
investigations  had  led  to  nothing.  The  detectives 
had  found  no  American  crook  and  no  better-class 
English  criminal  who  could  be  connected  with  the 
crime.  That  the  jewels  had  vanished  with  the  rob- 
bers excited  no  surprise ;  it  would  be  months  before 
they  began  to  dribble  onto  the  European  market. 
Inspector  Giffen  began  to  be  afflicted  by  a  disagree- 
able fear  that  Lady  Aldington  had  been  robbed  by 
gifted  amateurs  beyond  the  reach  of  narks. 

His  spurred  superiors  were  demanding  results 
with  asperity.  But  they  did  not  get  them.  His  rep- 
utation was  not  rising.  Moreover,  if  it  had  not 
been  that  he  had  recognized  in  Andrew  Rawnsley 
the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale,  he  would  have 
wished  that  he  had  not  chanced  to  be  at  Hammer- 
smith Police  Station  on  the  night  of  the  murder  of 
Henry  Rawnsley;  for  of  that  crime  too  he  could 
make  nothing.  If  he  had  not  been  there  the  case 
would  have  been  put  into  the  hands  of  some  other 
man ;  and  he  was  wishing  that  some  other  man  had 
it.  Nothing  had  come  of  the  watch  on  Malkin 


198    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Lane — to  him  at  any  rate.  He  was  quite  sure  that 
the  murderer  had  not  escaped  to  hiding  in  any  of 
the  houses  in  that  thoroughfare.  From  the  most 
searching  inquiries  among  the  criminals  of  the  lo- 
cality nothing  had  been  learned. 

The  Inspector  had  several  interviews  with  Mrs. 
Rawnsley  at  Kew ;  and  she  bore  out  her  husband's 
statement  that  Henry  had  not  an  enemy  in  the 
world.  Yet  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe 
that  robbery  had  been  the  motive  of  the  murder; 
it  would  have  been  so  easy  for  a  robber  to  have 
snatched  at  least  the  boy's  watch.  He  would  have 
been  inclined  to  believe  that  Henry  had  been  mur- 
dered by  Andrew  Rawnsley  himself,  had  he  not  had 
the  quite  trustworthy  evidence  of  Annie  that  at  the 
time  of  the  murder  Andrew  Rawnsley  had  been  sit- 
ting quietly  in  his  dining-room.  As  things  were, 
he  was  disposed  to  believe  that  it  might  be  a  crime 
of  revenge,  that  someone  had  taken  vengeance  on 
Andrew  Rawnsley  for  some  crime  (he  had  little 
doubt  that  he  had  committed  more  crimes  than  the 
murder  of  his  wife)  of  which  he  had  no  knowledge 
and  might  never  have  knowledge. 

But  here  he  was  with  two  undiscovered  crimes  on 
his  hands ;  and  it  was  quite  clear  to  him  that,  unless 
his  luck  turned,  he  was  neither  going  to  discover 
the  despoilers  of  Lady  Aldington  nor  the  murderers 
of  Henry  Rawnsley. 

Accordingly  he  was  greatly  comforted  by  his  rec- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     199 

ognition  of  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale.  It 
gave  him  more  than  a  mere  chance  of  freshening 
his  fading  reputation;  if  he  could  bring  to  justice 
an  English  Marquess  after  a  sham  suicide  and  an 
ingenious  ten  years  evasion,  he  would  not  only  rise 
to  the  very  leadership  of  the  detective  force,  but 
columns  upon  columns  in  the  newspapers  of  the 
world  would  be  black  with  his  glory. 

But  he  did  not  under-estimate  the  difficulties  of 
the  task.  There  was  no  great  difficulty,  indeed,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  ten  years  had  elapsed,  in  work- 
ing up  the  evidence  that  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drys- 
dale had  murdered  his  wife,  because  his  sham  sui- 
cide and  his  long  concealment  from  the  eyes  of  his 
friends  in  the  personality  of  the  proprietor  of 
Rawnsley's  Emporium  would  be  damning  proofs  of 
his  guilt. 

The  real  difficulty  was  one  of  identification.  He 
himself  had  no  doubt  whatever  that  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley  was  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale;  but  his 
knowledge  was  to  a  great  degree  a  matter  of  pure 
instinct.  Indeed  the  likeness  itself  would,  during 
their  interviews  about  the  murder  of  Henry,  fade 
from  Andrew  Rawnsley's  face  before  his  very  eyes 
and  return  again.  Ten  years  make  a  great  differ- 
ence in  the  face  of  any  man. 

He  had  to  find  other  people  to  swear  to  the  iden- 
tity of  Andrew  Rawnsley  with  the  sixth  Marquess 
of  Drysdale.  There  was  the  difficulty  of  age.  An- 


200    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

drew  Rawnsley  looked  very  much  nearer  sixty  than 
fifty;  but  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale  would  be 
but  a  few  weeks  over  fifty.  Then  there  was  the 
beard,  which  necessarily  changed  the  face.  He  was 
sure  that,  could  he  get  Andrew  Rawnsley  clean 
shaven,  he  would  not  only  take  three  or  four  years 
off  his  age,  but  would  make  it  quite  plain  for  all  who 
had  known  him  to  recognize  in  him  the  sixth  Mar- 
quess of  Drysdale.  There  was  indeed  the  change  in 
the  voice;  the  rich,  deep,  almost  unctuous  tones  of 
Andrew  Rawnsley  were  indeed  unlike  the  harsh, 
rasping  voice  of  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale; 
but  the  voice  can  be  changed,  and  Inspector  Giffen 
did  not  propose  to  trouble  his  witnesses  to  the  iden- 
tity with  Andrew  Rawnsley's  voice.  The  voice  so 
rarely  plays  a  part  in  the  identification,  once  the 
prisoner  is  in  the  box. 

First  of  all  he  wanted  a  prima  facie  case  to  take 
to  the  authorities  of  Scotland  Yard  and  procure 
their  assistance  in  the  matter.  He  set  about  getting 
it.  First  of  all  he  dealt  with  the  fact  that  Andrew 
Rawnsley  had  been  well  known  in  the  neighborhood, 
first  at  No.  n  Malkin  Lane,  then  at  the  house  in 
Cedar  Road,  Kew,  where  Mrs.  Rawnsley  was  now 
living,  and  then  at  the  House  on  the  Mall,  for  twen- 
ty-two years.  He  went  down  to  Drysdale  and  put 
up  at  the  village  inn.  He  found  that  he  had  not  to 
stir  out  of  it  to  learn  anything  that  was  to  be  learned 
at  Drysdale  about  the  sixth  Marquess.  In  the 


THE  HO  USB  ON  THE  'MALL    201 

landlord  of  the  inn  he  recognized  the  butler  of  Drys- 
dale  Court  ten  years  before.  The  landlord  recog- 
nized Inspector  Giffen  and  was  delighted  to  learn 
that  he  had  come  down  for  a  couple  of  days  holiday 
to  the  scene  of  his  old  investigations.  He  was 
charmed  to  be  able  to  discuss  the  circumstances  of 
the  mysterious  murder  of  the  Marchioness  with  one 
who  knew  them  so  well,  and  to  impart  to  him  the 
four  different,  but  contradictory,  solutions  of  that 
problem  which  he  had  found  in  the  course  of  pon- 
dering it  so  long.  Those  set  forth  at  length,  there 
was  no  difficulty  in  getting  him  to  talk  about  his 
late  master.  As  he  had  expected,  Inspector  Giffen 
learned  that  for  a  good  ten  years  before  his  death 
the  Marquess  had  been  very  little  at  Drysdale  Court. 
He  had  been  used  to  come  to  it  for  a  week  at  Christ- 
mas, a  week  at  Easter,  a  fortnight  in  the  summer, 
and  frequently  for  week-ends.  The  Inspector  had 
little  difficulty  in  accounting  for  the  short  time  the 
Marquess  had  spent  at  his  ancestral  home ;  the  Mar- 
quess had  been  busy  with  the  Emporium. 

He  went  on  to  make  inquiries  about  Dr.  McGin- 
nis,  the  doctor  who  had  made  the  sham  suicide  pos- 
sible for  the  Marquess.  He  learned,  to  his  consid- 
erable annoyance,  that  Dr.  McGinnis  had  left  Drys- 
dale six  months  after  the  suicide  of  the  Marquess 
and  betaken  himself  to  the  United  States.  To  the 
inhabitants  of  Drysdale  this  had  seemed  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world ;  Dr.  McGinnis  had  been  a 


202    THE  HOUSE  ON  THH  MALL 

failure ;  he  had  had  few  patients  and  fewer  friends. 
The  Inspector  made  inquiries  of  those  friends  about 
what  part  of  the  United  States  Dr.  McGinnis  was 
gracing.  None  of  them  could  tell  him.  He  was  not 
greatly  distressed  by  this;  if  the  Marquess  were 
brought  to  trial,  he  would  have  to  produce  Dr.  Mc- 
Ginnis. 

On  his  return  to  town  the  Inspector  had  another 
interview  with  Mrs.  Rawnsley  about  the  murder  of 
Henry.  He  put  it  to  her  that  the  crime  might  be 
some  act  of  vengeance,  and  asked  her  for  particulars 
of  the  early  life  of  her  husband.  As  he  had  ex- 
pected he  learned  that  Andrew  Rawnsley  had  been 
vague  about  his  early  life.  Indeed  she  could  give 
him  no  particulars  about  it;  she  could  only  tell  him 
that  her  husband  was  a  Birmingham  man.  The  In- 
spector knew  that  Birmingham  was  far  too  large  a 
place  for  him  to  hope  to  demonstrate  that  Andrew 
Rawnsley  had  not  lived  in  it.  That  did  not  trouble 
him:  it  would  rather  rest  with  the  Marquess  to 
prove  that  Andrew  Rawnsley  had  lived  in  it. 

The  Inspector  had  now  sufficient  of  a  case  to  take 
to  his  superiors ;  and  the  superior  he  took  it  to  was 
one  of  the  younger  of  them,  for  he  felt  that  a 
younger  man  would  be  most  keenly  interested  in  his 
exciting  discovery.  He  laid  before  him  the  fact  of 
his  recognition  of  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale 
in  Andrew  Rawnsley.  He  explained  how  the  sham 
suicide  which  had  robbed  him  of  his  prey  at  the 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     203 

very  moment  at  which  he  had  completed  the  chain 
of  evidence  which  would  have  convicted  the  Mar- 
quess of  the  murder  of  his  wife,  had  been  managed. 
He  showed  how  the  absences  of  the  Marquess 
from  Drysdale  Court  corresponded  with  the  pres- 
ence of  Andrew  Rawnsley  at  the  Emporium.  He 
laid  stress  on  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Rawnsley  knew 
nothing  about  her  husband's  early  life.  He  ended 
his  exposition  on  a  note  of  triumph. 

As  he  listened  to  him  the  face  of  his  superior,  a 
pallid,  heavy-eyed  man  of  thirty-five,  grew  gloom- 
ier and  gloomier.  Inspector  Giffen's  point  of  view 
that  to  bring  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale  to 
justice  after  an  ingenious  evasion  of  ten  years 
would  greatly  redound  to  the  credit  of  the  police 
was  not  very  prominent  in  his  mind.  He  was  think- 
ing rather  of  the  scandal,  of  the  grief  and  trouble 
of  the  Drysdale  family,  of  the  ruin  of  the  political 
career  of  the  Marquess,  and  of  the  fact  that  for  the 
police  to  have  been  thrown  off  the  murderer's  track 
by  such  a  simple  device  as  a  painted  throat  would 
excite  more  ridicule  than  their  discovery,  at  the  ex- 
piration of  ten  years,  that  they  had  been  so  simply 
tricked  would  excite  admiration.  Then  he  consid- 
ered that  the  genius  of  detection  who  had  discovered 
the  trick  was  the  very  person  who  had  been  the  vic- 
tim of  it.  He  began  to  grow  irritated.  He  began  to 
feel  strongly  that  while  zeal  was  an  excellent  thing, 
zeal  on  the  wrong  occasion,  and  too  much  of  it,  was 


204    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

extremely  tiresome.  At  any  rate,  he  would  like  first 
to  discuss  the  matter  carefully  with  his  colleagues. 

His  pallid  face  was  a  little  flushed;  his  heavy 
eyes  had  grown  a  little  bright.  He  said  in  his  heavy, 
toneless  voice : 

"Look  here,  Giffen ;  haven't  you  been  in  charge  of 
the  Aldington  case  for  the  last  six  weeks  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Inspector  Giffen,  not  seeing  clear- 
ly what  that  had  to  do  with  it. 

"And  so  far  you  have  discovered  nothing,  I  be- 
lieve?" said  his  superior. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Inspector  Giffen. 

"Then  I  think  if  you  were  to  devote  your  intel- 
ligence to  the  work  which  you  are  supposed  to  be  do- 
ing instead  of  touring  the  country  examining  mare's 
nests,  we  should  get  along  a  little  quicker.  Good 
morning." 

Inspector  Giffen  came  out  of  the  office  in  a  state 
of  irritation. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  WOOING  OF  NANCY 

RUPERT  DRAYTON  was  finding  his  con- 
valescence the  pleasantest  time  of  his  life. 
At  half-past  two  every  afternoon  Nancy 
came  and  entertained  him  with  reading  and  with 
talk ;  for  the  most  part  they  talked.  He  had  learned, 
questioning  her  in  his  direct,  frank,  American  way, 
the  simple  story  of  her  life  in  the  country.  Her  moth- 
er had  died  when  she  was  a  baby  of  a  year  old ;  and 
her  father  had  died  a  few  months  later.  Her  aunt 
had  taken  their  place ;  and  she  and  Nancy  had  lived 
a  peaceful  life  of  an  English  village  on  sixty  dol- 
lars a  month.  It  had  not  been  a  lonely  life ;  as  a  child, 
and  later  as  a  girl,  Nancy  had  had  a  full  dozen 
friends,  boys  and  girls,  of  her  own  age.  With  them 
she  had  played  the  games  which  make  country  life 
endurable  to  the  spirited  young. 

She  grew  very  friendly  with  Rupert;  indeed  she 
was  often  motherly.  But  Rupert  was  dissatisfied; 
in  the  matter  of  friendship,  indeed,  he  was  making 
good  progress;  but  friendship  was  not  what  he 
wanted ;  it  was  not  enough  for  him.  Yet  they  never 

205 


206    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

seemed  to  get  beyond  it.  He  had  had  no  experience 
in  the  tender  passion;  but  he  felt  that  there  was 
something  wrong  in  the  fact  that  Nancy's  eyes  al- 
ways met  his  with  a  serene  frankness;  never  once 
did  they  fall  before  his  ardent  gaze.  He  could 
see  that  she  never  for  a  moment  dreamed  of  the 
possibility  of  anything  but  friendship  between  them. 

He  wanted  to  make  her  not  only  dream  of  it,  but 
think  about  it  seriously;  but  he  was  entirely  at  a 
loss  how  to  compass  that  end.  His  had  been  the 
severe,  strenuous  life.  He  had  not  had  a  college 
education ;  girls  had  played  no  part  in  his  life.  He 
had  not  mixed  with  them  since  he  had  always  cher- 
ished a  strong  aversion  from  the  social  life  of  his 
native  city,  and  had  despised  the  male  butterflies 
who  flitted  about  Chicago  society. 

His  father  had  taken  him  straight  from  school 
into  his  business.  He  had  felt  strongly  that  if  his 
son  were  to  become  a  first-class  fighter  in  the  busi- 
ness arena,  he  could  not  begin  his  gladiatorial  train- 
ing too  early.  He  had  therefore  given  him  an  early 
chance  of  distinguishing  himself  in  his  packing  de- 
partment. 

Rupert  had  not  wasted  that  early  chance ;  he  had 
distinguished  himself  and  earned  a  speedy  promo- 
tion to  the  fancy  goods  department.  Then  he  had 
enjoyed  a  term  in  every  department  of  the  great 
store;  and  in  none  of  them  had  he  proved  false  to 
his  early  promise.  At  the  age  of  twenty-two  he 


had  acquired  a  thorough,  inside  knowledge  of  every 
branch  of  the  great  business;  and  then  his  father 
had  promoted  him  to  the  rank  of  his  lieutenant.  All 
the  time  Rupert  had  been  giving  his  evenings,  with 
every  assistance  from  that  keen,  indulgent  father, 
to  the  mastery  of  the  details  of  the  work  of  the 
store.  It  had  left  him  no  time  for  the  acquisition 
of  the  graces  and  very  little  time  for  reading.  His 
holidays  had  been  short;  and  he  had  spent  them 
with  a  boyhood  friend,  now  a  successful  young 
New  York  lawyer,  a  strenuous  worker  like  himself, 
in  the  Adirondacks  or  on  fishing  expeditions  in 
Canada. 

His  mother,  like  Nancy's — he  felt  that  it  was  a 
bond  between  them — had  died  when  he  was  young; 
and  he  had  no  sisters,  so  that  with  women  he  had 
had  little  to  do.  Indeed  he  had  always  looked  on 
them  with  the  cold,  searching  eye  of  an  employer. 
Every  now  and  then  he  had  gone,  or  rather  he  had 
been  dragged,  to  the  social  functions  of  the  best 
circles  of  Chicago.  His  father  had  never  encour- 
aged it ;  and  he  himself  had  felt  that  at  them  he  was 
a  fish  out  of  water.  The  triviality  of  the  life  op- 
pressed him;  and  he  had  realized  with  very  little 
dissatisfaction  that  he  made  but  a  poor  show  in  the 
necessary  conversations  with  the  society  women 
who  fluttered  about  that  glittering  sphere. 

He  wished  now  that  he  had  put  a  constraint  on 
himself  and  made  a  better  use  of  those  opportuni- 


208    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

ties.  He  wished  that  he  had  read  more, — that  he 
had  read  poetry.  All  the  feelings  of  romance,  fine, 
delicate,  and  impassioned,  were  surging  in  his  bo- 
som ;  and  he  could  not  give  them  expression.  When 
he  tried  to  do  so  he  found  himself  tongue-tied.  He 
could  not  talk  to  Nancy,  not,  that  is,  as  he  felt  that 
he  ought  to  talk  to  her.  He  could  not  tell  her  how 
beautiful,  how  delightful,  how  ravishing  he  found 
her;  and  there  was  her  face  before  him,  stimulating 
his  romance,  a  perpetual  injunction  to  him  to  give 
it  utterance. 

Nancy  was  utterly  unaware  of  the  effect  her  beau- 
ty and  charm  had  on  him.  She  was  too  simple  a 
creature,  too  unversed  in  life  to  realize  that  her 
beauty  must  have  this  effect  on  him.  Several  of  the 
brothers  of  her  friends  at  Alington  had,  in  their 
bungling  way,  tried  to  express  their  calf-love  to  her. 
They  had  for  the  most  part  succeeded  in  making 
her  laugh  and,  since  none  of  them  had  touched  her 
fancy,  she  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  regarding 
love  as  an  affliction  of  the  young  male.  To  her 
Rupert  seemed  much  too  old  and  much  too  serious 
to  suffer  from  it. 

But  necessarily  he  was  under  a  compulsion  to 
impress  his  personality  upon  her;  he  had  to  talk  to 
her.  It  was  but  natural  that,  since  his  tongue  was 
sealed  to  the  language  of  romance  proper  to  her 
ears,  he  should  talk  on  his  subject,  the  work  he 
loved.  Nancy,  like  the  kind-hearted  girl  she  was, 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    209 

encouraged  him.  He  was  an  invalid  and  must  be 
humored.  She  let  him  relate  to  her,  indeed  she  en- 
couraged him  to  relate  to  her,  the  stories  of  great 
deals  in  hardware,  clothing,  or  fancy  goods,  and 
the  stories  of  battles  with  stern  rivals.  It  is  to  be 
feared  that,  with  a  lover's  partiality  to  himself,  Ru- 
pert did  not  always  tell  her  the  truth;  out  of  those 
great  deals  and  battles  he  always  came  the  victor. 
It  was  wrong  perhaps,  but  it  was  natural. 

Certainly  it  did  but  little  harm.  Nancy's  atten- 
tion so  often  wandered  from  the  story  of  the  fight 
before  the  victory  was  won.  Whenever  he  paused 
she  smiled  upon  him  graciously  and  cheered  him  to 
continue.  But  as  often  as  not  she  was  pondering 
some  saying  of  the  Marquess  which  had  puzzled 
her,  or  with  an  even  greater  interest  she  was  pon- 
dering the  Marquess  himself.  He  filled  her  mind 
more  and  more.  There  were  caressing  glances  of 
his  brown  eyes,  caressing  tones  of  his  flexible, 
haunting  voice  which  clung  to  her  mind.  She  pon- 
dered them,  and  again  she  pondered  them. 

There  is  no  saying  what  might  have  happened 
had  she  been  thrown  with  Rupert  before  she  met 
the  Marquess,  before  this  prepossession  with  him 
filled  her  mind.  She  might  have  listened  to  Rupert 
with  closer  attention  and  been  impressed  by  his 
strength.  She  might  have  led  him  on  to  the  ex- 
pression of  the  delicate  and  impassioned  feelings 
she  inspired  into  him. 


2io    THE  HOUSB  ON  THE  MALL 

She  had  no  sentimental  feelings  about  the  Mar- 
quess; she  knew  that  he  could  be  nothing  more 
than  a  friend  to  her.  Once  or  twice,  letting  herself 
dream,  she  had  seen  him  in  the  part  of  the  fairy 
prince.  She  had  banished  the  dream  with  swift  se- 
verity ;  the  Marquess  was  going  to  marry  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  Europe.  But  that  need  not 
prevent  her  from  taking  great  interest  in  him  as  a 
friend;  he  was  the  most  interesting  man  she  had 
ever  met,  much  more  interesting  indeed  than  any  of 
the  men  in  the  novels  she  read.  It  is  significant,  that, 
though  Rupert's  stories  passed  lightly  and  swiftly 
in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other,  on  the  rare  oc- 
casions when  they  obtained  any  entrance  into  her 
head  at  all,  the  political  battles  of  the  Marquess, 
which  now  and  again  he  described  to  her  with  an 
irony  and  humor  which  amused  her,  excited  her 
liveliest  interest.  She  felt  that  it  was  odd  that  a 
girl  should  take  an  interest  in  such  serious  things, 
and  she  told  herself  that  it  was  not  owing  to  the 
fact  that  they  concerned  the  Marquess  but  to  the 
way  the  Marquess  told  them.  She  would  not  admit 
that  everything  which  concerned  the  Marquess  was 
of  great  interest  to  her.  She  felt  that  that  would 
have  been  to  go  too  far. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Rupert  believed 
that  he  was  making  great  way  with  her ;  her  kindly 
display  of  interest  in  matters  of  such  absorbing  in- 
terest to  him  naturally  gave  him  hope.  He  came  to 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    211 

feel  strongly  that  a  girl  who  could  take  this  interest 
in  business  was  the  very  wife  for  him. 

His  convalescence  was  further  lightened  by  the 
visits  of  Andrew  Rawnsley  who  came  up  to  his 
room  for  half  an  hour  every  morning  after  break- 
fast and  discussed  with  him  business  problems  and 
business  methods.  Often  he  would  leave  Rupert 
one  of  the  problems  of  the  Emporium  to  solve  for 
him,  and  come  after  dinner  in  the  evening  for  Ru- 
pert's suggestions.  Rupert  found  that  the  solving 
interfered  somewhat  with  his  dreams  of  Nancy ;  but 
he  enjoyed  the  intellectual  wrestle. 

The  Marquess,  who  had  of  course  learned  from 
Nancy  how  she  was  now  spending  the  early  part 
of  her  afternoons,  took  a  great  interest  in  Rupert. 
He  showed  it  chiefly  by  talking  to  her  of  the  dif- 
ferent methods  he  himself  ought  to  employ  to  dis- 
cover the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe,  till  Nan- 
cy was  sick  to  death  of  the  very  mention  of  that 
elusive  creature. 

One  afternoon  she  came  from  her  sick-bed  minis- 
trations to  find  the  Marquess  sitting  with  her  uncle, 
waiting  for  her  to  come  and  give  them  tea.  His  in- 
quiries about  Rupert's  progress  were  almost  tender. 
Since  he  knew  something  of  the  strenuous  life  of 
the  young  American  business  man,  he  had  extolled 
to  her  the  sterling  qualities  which  Rupert  must  pos- 
sess ;  and  to-day  he  extolled  them  once  more. 

Nancy,  she  could  not  understand  why,  was  an- 


212  run  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

noyed  by  these  laudations.  On  the  subject  of  Ru- 
pert she  had  heard  from  the  Marquess  so  much 
about  sterling  qualities  that  she  was  beginning  rath- 
er to  dislike  them.  She  had  an  odd,  inexplicable 
feeling  that  she  would  much  rather  that  the  Mar- 
quess dwelt  for  a  while  on  the  sterling  qualities  of 
the  young  English  nobleman.  She  could  not  have 
given  the  reason  for  it,  but  this  warm  praise  of  an- 
other young  man,  excellent  though  that  young  man 
might  be,  seemed  in  some  curious  fashion  to  cast 
a  reflection  on  her  own  powers  of  attraction.  It 
may  be  that  the  Marquess,  who  had  acquired,  doubt- 
less in  the  House  of  Lords,  a  not  inconsiderable 
knowledge  of  the  heart  of  women,  was  aware  that 
his  disinterested  praise  would  produce  in  her  some 
such  feeling. 

After  tea  the  Marquess  protested  earnestly  that 
he  needed  fresh  air.  They  went  into  the  garden  of 
the  House  on  the  Mall,  and  walking  up  the  nearer 
side  of  the  shrubbery  of  Wellingtonias  without  com- 
ing into  sight  of  the  windows  of  the  house,  they 
sat  down  on  a  bench  near  the  end  of  it.  They  were 
in  a  niche  in  the  scented  cedar  wall. 

Nancy  observed  that  the  Marquess  seemed  disin- 
clined to  talk,  and  was  looking  as  solemn,  not  to  say 
as  gloomy,  as  only  he,  or  a  well-trained  mute,  could. 

Presently  he  sighed  heavily  and  murmured  in  a 
low  despondent  tone:  "The  most  beautiful  woman 
in  Europe." 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    213 

Nancy  ground  her  teeth  gently.  It  seemed  rather 
hard  that  after  Rupert  had  talked  to  her  for  an 
hour  about  a  desperate  deal,  the  Marquess  should 
begin  on  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe. 

"What  about  her — to-day?"  she  said,  in  a  tone 
as  near  gruff  as  her  delightful  voice  could  utter. 

"To-day?  Why,  to-day  the  difficulty  of  finding 
her  seems  to  have  grown  more  appalling  than  ever," 
said  the  Marquess,  in  a  tone  of  infinite  sadness. 

"You  said  that  yesterday — and  the  day  before 
yesterday — and  the  day  before  that,"  said  Nancy. 

"Did  I?"  said  the  Marquess,  in  a  tone  of  some 
surprise.  "Now  I  come  to  think  of  it  I  expect  I 
did.  She  haunts  me.  And  I  find  you  so  sym- 
pathetic to  discuss  her  with." 

"Do  you?"  said  Nancy  in  anything  but  a  sym- 
pathetic tone. 

"Yes.  And  if  you  come  to  think  of  it,  she  is 
an  attractive  and  wonderful  theme — wonderful — 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe,"  said  the 
Marquess,  in  the  tone  of  an  almost  lachrymose 
dreamer. 

Again  Nancy  ground  her  teeth  gently.  She  did 
not  appear  to  be  thinking  of  anything  attractive 
and  wonderful  at  all.  Indeed  she  was  frowning. 

The  brown  eyes  of  the  Marquess  rested  on  her 
face  with  ineffable  solemnity ;  and  he  said :  "We  are 
indeed  fortunate  to  have  two  such  subjects  of  con- 
versation— the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe  and 


2i4    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

that  sterling  young  American.  She  appeals  espe- 
cially to  me,  and  he  appeals  especially  to  you." 

Nancy  let  her  hands  fall  in  her  lap  in  a  gesture  of 
discouragement.  She  turned  and  gazed  at  the  Mar- 
quess with  burning  eyes,  and  said  a  little  breathless- 
ly :  "And  now — and  now  let's  talk  about  something 
else." 

The  Marquess  dropped  back  against  the  back  of 
the  bench ;  his  solemnity  broke,  and  he  laughed  his 
ringing,  joyous  laugh. 

"It's  a  shame  to  tease  you — a  horrid  shame,"  he 
said. 

"Tease  me?"  said  Nancy,  looking  at  him  with 
astonished  eyes. 

With  an  absent-minded  air  the  Marquess  put  his 
arm  round  her  and  very  nearly  kissed  her. 

Not  quite.  Nancy  may  have  been  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  you  did  when  a  Marquess  invited  him- 
self to  tea,  but  she  knew  very  well  what  you  did 
when  a  Marquess  tried  to  kiss  you.  She  slapped 
him  hard. 

The  Marquess  gasped,  and  howled  in  tones  of 
horror:  "She  has  slapped  the  senior  unmarried 
Marquess  of  England,  the  Under  Secretary  of  State 
for  Foreign  Affairs!" 

"And  she'll  do  it  again!"  said  Nancy  with  spirit. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

INSPECTOR    GIFFEN    EXPLORES    THE    HOUSE  ON   THE 
MALL 

THE  irritation  of  Inspector  Giffen  was  some 
time  subsiding.  He  did  not  immediately  be- 
take himself  to  his  work  on  the  solution  of 
the  Aldington  jewel  mystery,  because  there  was  no 
work  to  be  done  on  it.  The  matter  persisted,  in  the 
most  painful  manner,  in  remaining  a  mystery.  Not 
a  ray  of  light  gleamed  on  it  from  any  quarter. 

He  spent  the  next  few  days  prowling  about  Ham- 
mersmith, chiefly  about  the  lower  quarters  of  it; 
and  in  different  public-houses  he  discussed  the  mur- 
der on  the  Mall  with  many  of  the  most  prominent 
local  criminals.  He  threatened,  or  endeavored  to 
bribe  them  by  turns.  To  try  to  bribe  them  seemed 
indeed  of  little  use,  since  Andrew  Rawnsley  was 
offering  a  thousand  pounds  reward  for  information 
which  should  lead  to  the  arrest  of  the  murderer; 
the  threats  seemed  equally  useless. 

The  papers,  having  other  things  to  attend  to,  had 
allowed  the  matter  of  the  Aldington  jewels  to  sink 
to  two-inch  paragraphs.  But  the  offer  of  so  large  a 

215 


216    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

reward  still  kept  the  murder  of  Henry  Rawnsley 
among  the  quarter-column  items.  It  being-  neces- 
sary to  say  something  in  those  quarter-column 
items,  a  great  many  of  the  papers  said  things  about 
the  police — none  of  them  complimentary.  Inspect- 
or Giffen  did  not  come  to  his  morning  paper  with 
his  usual  avidity.  It  was  a  long  while  since  any 
paper  had  spoken  of  his  powers  of  detection  with 
the  warmth  he  knew  that  they  deserved. 

It  was  but  natural  that  his  mind  should  run  con- 
tinually on  his  discovery  that  the  sixth  Marquess 
of  Drysdale  was  acting  as  the  proprietor  of  Rawns- 
ley's  Emporium.  The  idea  had  indeed  occurred  to 
him  that  Andrew  Rawnsley  might  be  merely  a  half- 
brother  of  the  sixth  Marquess,  bearing  a  strong 
resemblance  to  him.  He  had  heard  of  such  half- 
brothers  and  such  resemblances.  He  put  the  idea 
firmly  aside;  it  did  not  harmonize  with  his  inten- 
tion of  freshening  his  fading  reputation  by  an  as- 
tounding discovery.  Moreover  he  was  exceedingly 
eager  to  demonstrate  to  his  pallid,  but  peremptory, 
young  superior  that  the  man  who  supposed  that  In- 
spector Giffen  was  a  discoverer  of  mare's  nests  was 
a  fool. 

His  train  of  bad  luck  had  weakened  his  usually 
clear  intelligence,  and  he  was  deeply  absorbed  in 
the  fading  of  his  reputation,  or  he  would  have  per- 
ceived the  probability  that  his  superiors  were  disin- 
clined to  rake  up  so  old  and  so  terrible  a  scandal. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL    217 

He  prowled  much  about  the  House  on  the  Mall. 
He  would  pass  it,  slowly,  five  and  six  times  a  day. 
At  night  he  would  sometimes  stand  some  thirty  or 
forty  yards  up  or  down  the  Mall,  for  half  an  hour 
at  a  time,  gazing  at  it.  He  was  not  an  imaginative 
man ;  but  sometimes  its  windows  seemed  to  him  to 
have  the  appearance  of  inscrutable  eyes.  Then  one 
afternoon  he  saw  the  seventh  Marquess  of  Drysdale 
go  through  the  big  wooden  doors  which  led  to  the 
garage  of  Andrew  Rawnsley. 

The  heart  of  Inspector  Giffen  beat  so  high  that 
for  half  an  hour  his  face  was  flushed  as  if  he  had 
been  drinking. 

It  was  after  that  that  he  began  to  feel  that  if 
only  he  could  get  into  the  house  and  spend  an  hour 
in  it  alone  and  undisturbed,  he  would  find  evidence 
so  conclusive  that  he  could  force  his  superiors  to 
act.  He  decided  that  he  would  have  that  undis- 
turbed hour  in  the  House  on  the  Mall. 

Long  experience  had  taught  him  the  value  of 
simple  methods.  He  had  observed  on  the  afternoon 
on  which  he  had  gone  to  interview  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley and  had  waited  in  the  hall  for  his  return  from 
the  Emporium,  or  from  town,  that  Annie  always 
came  up  to  the  front  door  from  the  basement  of  the 
right  wing.  There  seemed  to  be  no  servants  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  house ;  he  never  heard  a  sound  of 
any.  Plainly  they  did  their  work  earlier  in  the  day. 
He  saw  his  way  to  take  advantage  of  this. 


218    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

At  three  o'clock  the  next  afternoon  he  came  to 
the  house.  Annie  let  him  in  and  told  him  that 
Mr.  Rawnsley  was  out.  He  said  that  he  would  wait 
till  he  returned  and  sat  down  on  the  chair  in  the 
hall.  Annie  went  through  the  door  into  the  right 
wing  and  shut  it  behind  her.  He  went  quickly 
to  it,  gave  her  time  to  get  half  way  down  the 
stairs  to  the  basement,  opened  the  door,  and  called 
through  it:  "I  shan't  be  able  to  wait;  I've  just 
remembered  an  important  engagement." 

He  stepped  quickly  to  the  front  door,  opened  it, 
and  closed  it  loudly.  Then  he  stood  listening  and 
heard  the  girl's  footsteps  die  away  down  in  the 
basement.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  the 
ground  floor  till  the  last,  for  since  the  servants  were 
in  the  basement  they  might  hear  the  sound  of  his 
footsteps  just  over  their  heads.  He  went  lightly 
up  the  stairs  to  the  first  floor. 

It  was  enough  for  him  to  take  one  glance  at  the 
big  drawing-room  which  covered  most  of  the  first 
floor.  He  observed  that  Mr.  Rawnsley  had  not 
been  entertaining  ladies  lately.  It  was  not  only  that 
the  furniture  was  in  linen  covers,  but  the  room  felt 
as  if  it  had  not  been  used  for  a  long  time.  He  came 
out  of  it  and  hesitated  whether  to  explore  the  whole 
of  the  first  floor,  or  first  the  centre  of  the  house  and 
then  the  two  wings.  He  decided  that  he  would  ex- 
plore the  whole  of  the  first  floor. 

There  were  only  four  rooms  on  it  beside  the 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    219 

drawing-room,  which  ran  well  into  wings  on  both 
sides.  The  end  of  the  right  wing  was  filled  by  a 
sitting-room  looking  out  over  the  river,  and  a 
bedroom  looking  out  over  the  garden.  The  end 
of  the  left  wing  was  filled  by  a  similar  sitting- 
room  and  bedroom.  All  these  four  rooms  were 
plainly  not  in  use.  He  went  up  to  the  second  floor 
and  there  he  found  the  two  rooms  he  wanted,  An- 
drew Rawnsley's  bedroom  and  Andrew  Rawnsley's 
study.  They  were  both  in  the  right  wing  and  both 
had  a  southern  aspect  looking  out  over  the  river. 
The  bedroom  was  luxuriously  furnished  indeed;  in 
the  matter  of  comfort  the  art  of  the  upholsterer 
could  go  no  further.  But  it  was  with  the  toilet- 
table  that  Inspector  Giffen  chiefly  concerned  him- 
self. It  was  covered  with  every  implement  of  the 
toilet  which  the  most  fastidious  dandy  could  possi- 
bly need.  But  no  one  of  them  was  in  any  way 
out  of  the  common  or  such  as  he  might  not  have 
found  on  the  table  of  any  rich  dandy  in  London. 
He  went  carefully  through  the  drawers  of  the 
toilet  table  and  found  in  them  none  of  the  devices 
which  are  used  to  disguise  a  man.  In  one  of  the 
hair-brushes  he  found  some  black  hairs,  and  saw 
plainly  that  either  one  of  the  maids  or  Andrew 
Rawnsley's  valet  had  been  using  their  master's 
brushes.  He  examined  the  wardrobe  with  the  same 
care  and  the  same  ill  success. 

Again  and  again  he  paused  during  his  examina- 


220    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

tion  to  listen.  When  he  came  out  of  the  bedroom 
door  he  stood  still  and  listened  for  a  good  half 
minute.  Then  he  went  into  Andrew  Rawnsley's 
study  and  straight  to  the  big  roll-top  desk,  which 
stood  against  the  side  of  the  room.  He  was  sur- 
prised and  pleased  to  find  it  open;  not  a  drawer 
in  it  was  locked.  He  opened  the  little  drawers  in 
the  top  of  it  quickly  one  after  the  other  and  ex- 
amined their  contents.  They  held  nothing  of  any 
interest  or  use  to  him.  His  eyes  fell  on  a  large, 
old-fashioned  seal;  he  picked  it  up  and  looked 
at  it.  It  was  engraved  with  the  Drysdale  arms. 

He  stared  at  it,  smiling  with  a  grim  content; 
then  he  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

Cheered  by  the  discovery,  he  turned  again  to  his 
search;  he  wanted,  amongst  other  things,  a  docu- 
ment in  the  handwriting  of  Andrew  Rawnsley.  He 
would  have  been  satisfied  with  a  few  notes  on  half 
a  sheet  of  paper,  an  unfinished  letter,  a  copy  of  a 
letter.  He  went  quickly  through  the  larger  drawers 
on  the  left-hand  side  without  finding  any  such  docu- 
ment. He  opened  the  top  drawer  on  the  right-hand 
side  and  ready  to  the  hand  of  anyone  sitting  at 
the  desk  lay  a  large-sized,  ugly-looking  magazine 
pistol. 

Inspector  Giffen  gazed  at  it  earnestly;  and  again 
the  grim  smile  of  content  wreathed  his  lips.  An- 
drew Rawnsley  was  not  entirely  free  from  fears. 

The  Inspector  went  carefully  through  the  right- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    221 

hand  drawers  and  once  more  he  failed  to  find  the 
scrap  of  handwriting  he  wanted.  Did  Andrew 
Rawnsley  never  put  a  pen  to  paper  except  to  sign 
his  name  ? 

Inspector  Giffen  came  out  of  the  study,  not  en- 
tirely ill  content;  he  had  not  found  the  specimen  of 
handwriting,  but  he  had  the  seal.  He  paused  out- 
side the  door,  and  then  went  up  the  staircase  to  the 
third  floor.  He  might  as  well  make  a  thorough  job 
of  it  and  take  a  look  through  the  rest  of  the  house. 
The  iron  gate  at  the  entrance  of  the  corridor  to  the 
left  wing  caught  his  eye.  He  looked  at  it  and  saw 
that  it  was  in  constant  use.  The  steel  of  the  catch 
was  bright.  It  was  curious ;  and  he  went  down  the 
corridor  and  opened  the  door  of  the  first  room  on 
the  left.  It  was  a  sitting-room;  and  he  perceived 
at  once  that  it  was  in  use ;  it  was  filled  with  the  fra- 
grance of  a  lately  smoked  cigar.  His  eyes  fell 
straightway  on  the  statue  in  the  niche  in  the  wall 
facing  him.  He  stared  at  it;  then  he  crossed  the 
room,  stared  at  it  more  closely,  and  recognized  the 
stolen  Hebe.  The  case  of  the  stolen  Hebe  had  been 
one  of  his  failures.  He  chuckled  softly  and  slapped 
his  thigh.  Now,  at  any  rate,  he  could  force  his 
superiors  to  act. 

He  came  out  of  the  room,  smiling,  went  along  the 
corridor  to  the  next  door,  opened  it  softly,  and 
stood  gaping  on  the  threshold.  The  sixth  Marquess 
of  Drysdale,  black-haired  and  clean-shaven,  sat 


222    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

reading  by  the  window.  He  turned  his  head, 
looked  at  the  detective,  raised  his  eyebrows,  and 
said  in  the  rasping  tone  Inspector  Giffen  had  known 
so  well:  "Who  the  devil  are  you?" 

Inspector  Giffen's  voice  shook  a  little  as  he  said, 
triumphantly:  "Your  lordship  has  forgotten  me. 
I'm  Inspector  Giffen." 

"Inspector  Giffen!"  cried  the  Marquess,  loudly. 
"And  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"I've  been  looking  for  your  lordship,"  said  In- 
spector Giffen. 

"And  what  have  you  been  looking  for  me  for?" 
cried  the  Marquess,  still  more  loudly. 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  ask  your  lordship  to  come 
along  with  me  to  Scotland  Yard,"  said  Inspector 
Giffen,  suavely. 

"To  Scotland  Yard?  What  for?"  cried  the  Mar- 
quess. 

"To  explain " 

Inspector  Giffen  got  no  further.  His  right  wrist 
was  seized  in  a  powerful  grip,  and  twisted  round 
violently.  As  he  bent  backwards  to  the  twisting 
he  saw  above  him  the  silky  white  hair  and  venerable 
beard  of  Andrew  Rawnsley. 

"Police !  Murder !"  he  bellowed  with  all  the  force 
of  his  lungs. 

Then  the  Marquess  kicked  his  legs  from  under 
him,  Andrew  Rawnsley  flung  him  on  to  his  face 
with  a  jerk  which  nearly  wrenched  his  arm  out  of 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     223 

its  socket,  and  dropped  heavily  on  him  with  both 
knees,  driving  all  the  breath  out  of  his  body. 

Before  he  got  it  back  a  handkerchief  had  been 
thrust  into  his  mouth ;  his  hands  had  been  tied  be- 
hind him;  and  his  ankles  had  been  bound  together. 

He  could  only  see  the  carpet;  but  he  heard  the 
Marquess  of  Drysdale  say,  with  his  rasping  voice: 
"Very  neat." 

"Not  bad  for  a  man  of  my  age,"  said  the  deep, 
rich  voice  of  Andrew  Rawnsley. 

Had  Inspector  Giffen  been  able  to  see,  he  would 
have  seen  that  to  speak  the  two  sentences  the  lips 
of  only  one  man  moved ;  and  those  were  the  lips  of 
Paul  Mauleverer,  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drys- 
dale. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE  DISAPPEARANCE   OF   INSPECTOR   GIFFEN 

BETTER  get  another  handkerchief,"  said  the 
voice  of  the  Marquess. 

Inspector  Giffen  heard  the  footsteps  of 
Andrew  Rawnsley  go  down  the  passage  and  re- 
turn again.  Then  one  of  them  blindfolded  him. 
His  feet  were  unbound;  and  they  raised  him  on  to 
them.  Both  of  his  captors  grasped  him  by  an 
arm  and  marched  him  across  the  passage.  A  door 
was  snapped  to;  and  he  found  himself  in  a  lift, 
descending.  He  could  not  count  how  many  stories 
it  went  down;  but  when  the  door  was  opened  and 
he  was  led  out  of  it  he  gathered  from  the  damp 
feeling  of  the  air  and  from  the  fact  that  he  was 
walking  along  a  stone  or  a  cement  floor,  that  he 
was  in  the  basement.  He  counted  twenty-five  paces 
from  the  lift ;  then  they  stopped,  and  to  his  surprise 
he  found  himself  standing  still  but  moving  round. 
They  took  three  steps  forward,  and  the  voice  of 
Andrew  Rawnsley  said,  "Mind  the  steps." 

They  went  down  a  flight  of  steps,  turned  to  the 
left,  walked  forty-two  paces  and  stopped.     To  his 

224 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL    225 

surprise,  one  of  his  captors  cut  quickly  through 
the  bonds  which  bound  his  hands  behind  him.  Be- 
fore he  could  make  any  use  of  them  he  received 
a  sudden  push,  and  he  stepped  on  to  nothing,  and 
fell  through  the  floor.  By  great  good  luck,  in  spite 
of  the  unexpectedness  of  the  fall,  he  fell  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  and  only  bruised  his  left  knee 
on  the  stone  floor  on  which  he  fell. 

"Now  bellow,"  said  the  voice  of  the  Marquess 
above  him,  and  he  laughed  a  harsh,  rasping  laugh. 

Inspector  Giffen  did  not  bellow,  because  the  hand- 
kerchief was  still  in  his  mouth.  He  tore  off  the 
handkerchief  from  his  eyes.  Three  feet  above  him 
was  a  square  opening  in  the  ceiling.  The  ray  of 
an  electric  lamp  fell  upon  him  from  above ;  and  the 
voice  of  Andrew  Rawnsley  said,  "He's  not  crip- 
pled." 

Then  Inspector  Giffen  saw  a  stone  slab  come 
down  and  close  the  opening. 

He  pulled  the  handkerchief  out  of  his  mouth 
and  shouted  a  curse  at  the  Sixth  Marquess  of 
Drysdale.  Then,  in  utter  darkness,  he  groped 
round  the  walls  of  his  prison.  It  did  not  take  him 
long;  it  was  no  more  than  ten  feet  square.  He 
ran  against  a  low  bed  in  groping  round  it,  and 
in  the  further  wall  was  a  curious  groove  about 
fifteen  inches  deep  and  fifteen  inches  across.  He 
could  not  conceive  the  object  of  it.  He  sat  down 
on  the  bed  and  pondered  his  unpleasant  plight. 


226    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

The  more  he  pondered  it  the  more  unpleasant  did  it 
seem  to  him.  He  was  in  a  perfect  oubliette,  and 
in  the  power  of  a  desperate  man,  whose  dangerous 
secret  he  had  surprised.  He  wondered  whether  he 
would  ever  see  his  wife  and  little  boy  again. 

Then  he  fell  to  considering  the  circumstances  of 
his  capture.  So  Andrew  Rawnsley  had,  after  all, 
been  the  half-brother  of  the  Sixth  Marquess  of 
Drysdale.  It  was  in  his  house  that  the  Marquess 
lay  hidden.  He  might  have  been  there  for  years, 
but  Inspector  Giffen  thought  it  more  likely  that  he 
had  lived  abroad  most  of  the  time,  and  only  used 
the  House  on  the  Mall  during  his  stays  in  Eng- 
land. Doubtless,  too,  the  Marquess  had  found  the 
money  with  which  Andrew  Rawnsley  had  founded 
the  Emporium.  The  remarkable  thing  was  that 
this  half-brother's  likeness  to  him  should  have 
put  him  on  the  track  of  the  Marquess.  It  looked 
to  him  as  if  his  luck  were  turning.  But  no ;  by  the 
time  he  got  out  of  this  prison,  if  he  ever  did  get 
out  of  it,  the  Marquess  would  be  hidden  in  some 
foreign  country,  hidden  probably,  beyond  finding, 
in  a  home  he  had  established  ten  years  before. 

He  sat  still  for  a  long  while,  thinking  the  mat- 
ter out;  then  once  more  he  groped  round  his  cell, 
feeling  the  walls  and  the  floor.  Everywhere  his  fin- 
gers rested  on  smooth,  hard  cement.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  done;  and  he  sat  down  on  the  bed 
again ;  then  he  lay  down  on  it.  Now  and  again  he 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    227 

marked  the  passage  of  time  by  feeling  the  hands 
of  his  watch;  the  hours  passed  very  slowly.  He 
perceived  more  and  more  clearly  that  he  was  in  the 
hole  of  a  lifetime. 

At  about  eight  o'clock  that  night  he  heard  a 
sound — the  only  sound  he  had  heard  since  the 
stone  slab  had  come  down  over  the  opening  in  the 
ceiling.  It  came  from  the  groove  in  the  wall  at  the 
end  of  his  prison.  It  was  a  faintly  grating  sound. 
He  sprang  from  his  bed  and  rushed  to  the  groove, 
and  four  feet  from  the  ground  his  hand  touched 
a  shelf  which  filled  the  groove.  It  felt  to  be  of  iron. 
On  the  shelf  he  felt  a  loaf  of  bread,  then  a  jug 
of  water,  and  then  a  candle  in  a  candlestick.  On 
the  instant  he  found  the  matches  in  the  candlestick 
and  struck  one  and  lighted  the  candle.  Sure  enough 
there  was  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  jug  of  water.  Also 
beside  the  candle  in  the  candlestick  were  three  other 
candles,  and  the  candlestick  stood  on  a  book.  He 
put  the  candle  and  the  bread  and  the  spare  candles 
on  the  bed,  the  jug  of  water  he  put  on  the  floor. 
Then  he  took  the  book  from  the  shelf  and  read  the 
title.  It  was  called  "Wonderful  Escapes." 

He  felt  somewhat  comforted.  Plainly  his  cap- 
tors did  not  intend  to  starve  him.  It  looked  also 
as  if  they  did  not  intend  to  murder  him.  If  they 
had,  they  would  hardly  have  taken  the  trouble  to 
feed  him.  He  ate  half  the  loaf  and  drank  half  the 
water  out  of  the  jug — it  was  all  there  was  to  drink 


228    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  'MALL 

it  out  of.  Then  he  went  to  bed.  He  would  post- 
pone the  reading  of  the  book  till  the  morrow.  Hav- 
ing some  knowledge  of  the  character  of  the  Sixth 
Marquess  of  Drysdale,  he  doubted  that  he  would 
find  in  it  much  information  of  use  to  him. 


When  the  trap  had  closed  the  opening  of  In- 
spector Giffen's  prison,  Paul  Mauleverer  said 
thoughtfully,  "I  think  that  the  proper  place  for  An- 
drew Rawnsley  is  his  office  in  the  Emporium. 
There  is  nothing  like  an  alibi." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  little  chamber  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps  leading  up  to  the  circular  cellar,  and 
from  one  of  the  shelves  in  the  wall  of  it  he  took 
a  tin  case  and  opened  it.  From  it  he  drew  a  wig  of 
white,  silky  hair,  with  a  venerable  beard  attached 
to  it,  and  adjusted  it  to  his  head  with  the  aid  of  a 
mirror  in  the  lid  of  the  tin  case.  The  fit  was  a 
marvel ;  and  two  Andrew  Rawnsleys  faced  one  an- 
other in  the  little  chamber. 

"The  likeness  is  not  good,  Pettigrew,"  said  Paul 
Mauleverer,  "but,  with  my  double  voice,  I  think  it 
served." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Pettigrew  respectfully. 

Pettigrew  went  up  into  the  circular  cellar,  from 
it  to  the  lift,  and  so  to  the  top  of  the  left  wing. 
He  went  to  his  bedroom,  took  off  the  Andrew 
Rawnsley  wig  and  beard,  and  put  them  carefully 


THB  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     229 

away  in  a  tin  case,  the  fellow  of  the  tin  case  in  the 
little  chamber  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  leading  up 
to  the  circular  cellar. 

Paul  Mauleverer  went  in  the  opposite  direction, 
down  the  passage  facing  the  cellar  steps.  It  led 
under  the  garden.  He  walked  down  it  rather  more 
than  sixty  yards,  and  came  to  a  blank  wall.  A 
spring  set  it  revolving  on  a  pivot  in  the  same  fash- 
ion as  the  cellar  wall  of  No.  1 1  Malkin  Lane.  He 
stepped  through  the  opening  into  a  lift,  shut  the  re- 
volving door,  pressed  a  spring,  and  rose.  When 
the  lift  stopped,  he  pressed  another  spring,  and  a 
wooden  door  in  the  panelled  wall  of  his  office 
opened  and  let  him  through. 

He  closed  the  panel  and  then  unlocked  the  door 
of  his  office,  for  he  had  locked  it  before  going  by 
the  secret  way  to  the  House  on  the  Mall  for  an 
hour's  quiet  reading,  walked  through  his  outer  of- 
fice into  the  office  full  of  clerks,  went  down  the 
stairs,  out  of  the  building,  and  round  through  Mal- 
kin Lane  to  the  House  on  the  Mall.  A  dozen  clerks 
could  have  gone  into  the  witness  box  and  sworn  that 
Andrew  Rawnsley  had  entered  his  office  at  half- 
past  two  that  afternoon  and  left  it  at  half-past  four. 
The  only  access  to  it  was  through  the  room  in 
which  they  worked. 

It  was  not  till  the  following  evening  that  the 
newspaper  placards  announced  the  mysterious  dis- 
appearance of  Inspector  Giffen. 


23Q    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

That  evening  Paul  Mauleverer  spent  an  hour  with 
Colonel  Webling  at  his  flat  in  Holland  Park  Ave- 
nue. They  talked  at  length  about  the  villages  of 
Wicksey  and  Tilcombe  on  the  coast  of  Essex. 
Colonel  Webling  knew  the  district  well.  He  had 
spent  a  month  there,  shooting  duck,  the  year  be- 
fore. He  dwelt  at  length  on  the  desolation  of  that 
sparsely-populated  patch  of  coast  and  on  the  ad- 
vantages afforded  by  the  sand  dunes  to  a  man  in 
ambush.  They  were  both  of  them  cheerful. 

But  when  Paul  Mauleverer  rose  to  go,  the 
Colonel's  face  grew  suddenly  hard  and  stern.  At 
the  door  of  the  flat,  when  Paul  Mauleverer  said 
good  night  to  him,  he  said : 

"By  the  way,  don't  come  here  while  I'm  away." 

"Whatever  should  I  come  here  for  when  you're 
away?"  said  Paul  Mauleverer  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"You  know  very  well  what  you'd  come  here  for. 
Don't,"  said  Colonel  Webling  in  tones  of  dangerous 
menace. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

THE  DISAPPEARANCE   OF    MONTAGUE   SURGE 

THE  next  morning1  Andrew  Rawnsley  came 
to  his  office  rather  earlier  than  usual,  and 
at  once  sent  for  Montague  Burge.    When 
he  came  he  greeted  his  employer  sulkily,  but  some- 
what less  sulkily  than  he  had  greeted  him  for  some 
time  past.    Colonel  Webling  had  been  unable  to  get 
him  an  interview  with  the  Chief,  and  he  was  begin- 
ning to  understand  once  more  that  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley was  the  side  on  which  his  bread  was  buttered. 

There  was  no  change  whatever  in  the  demeanor 
of  Andrew  Rawnsley;  he  turned  to  Montague 
Burge  with  a  scowl,  and  said  to  him  in  a  tone 
which  he  would  hardly  have  cared  to  use  to  a  well- 
bred  dog: 

"The  Chief  has  been  at  work  trying  to  get  hold 
of  the  jewels  which  were  stolen  from  Welgrave 
Grange,  and  he  thinks  he  has  done  it.  But  the 
gang  who  got  them  are,  he  says,  a  very  shifty  lot, 
and  it's  more  than  likely  that  they'll  try  to  palm 
off  inferior  stuff  on  us  if  we  don't  look  out,  so  you 
had  better  go  and  get  them  yourself." 

231 


232    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"Where  do  I  go  to  ?"  said  Montague  Burge  with 
no  display  of  eagerness. 

"Here's  a  letter  from  the  man  the  Chief  is  deal- 
ing with,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley.  And  he  handed 
it  to  Montague  Burge. 

It  was  a  short  letter,  typed  with  a  broken-down 
machine,  full  of  letters  out  of  their  alignment,  writ- 
ten on  the  paper  of  the  Crown  Hotel,  Biggleswade. 
It  ran: 

DEAR  SIR — My  man  will  meet  you  with  the 
great  Auk's  egg  at  the  Anchor  Inn,  Tilcombe,  on 
Thursday,  Friday  or  Saturday  evening,  he  cannot 
be  sure  which.  The  best  way  to  get  to  Tilcombe 
is  to  take  the  train  to  Swyre  and  drive  through 
Fleetham  Regis. 

Yours  truly, 

HAROLD  WALTERS, 

Montague  Burge  read  the  letter  through  twice, 
frowning,  then  he  said  in  a  grumbling  tone,  though 
the  prospect  of  heavy  profit  from  the  jewels  pleased 
him  well,  "It  seems  to  be  a  three  days'  job,  and  not 
by  any  means  a  certainty  at  that." 

"The  Chief  is  fairly  sure  that  it  will  be  all 
right,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley.  "But  it's  quite 
dear  that  an  expert  has  got  to  go." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  I  must  go,"  said  Montague  Burge 
in  a  grumbling  tone.  "But  if  you  ask  me,  I  say 
ft's  a  wild-goose  chase." 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    233 

"I  don't  ask  you,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley  coldly. 

"What  about  the  money  for  the  jewels?  Am  I 
to  take  it  with  me?"  growled  Burge. 

"No.  The  Chief  pays  over  the  money — prob- 
ably to  this  fellow  Walters." 

On  the  Thursday  morning  Montague  Burge 
started  for  Tilcombe.  He  wore  a  light  tweed  suit 
appropriate  to  the  June  of  legend,  but  quite  inappro- 
priate to  the  gray  sky  and  drizzling  rain  through 
which  the  train  made  its  slow  way  to  the  coast  of 
Essex.  At  the  end  of  two  and  a  half  hours  he 
reached  Swyre.  The  rain  had  ceased  to  drizzle,  it 
was  now  heavy  and  steady.  He  did  not  relish  any 
drive  through  it,  and  when  he  learned  that  the  drive 
to  Tilcombe  was  eight  miles  long,  he  relished  it  still 
less.  However,  there  was  nothing  for  it.  He  hired 
a  trap,  an  open  trap  because  Swyre  did  not  boast 
a  single  country,  musty  fly,  and  set  out. 

They  drove  along  a  road  by  the  sea.  It  was  a 
bad  road  all  the  way,  but  those  parts  of  it  which 
seemed  to  have  spent  part  of  the  winter  under  water 
were  worse.  The  country  was  flat,  and  the  road 
ran  through  sand  dunes,  very  desolate.  Four  miles 
from  Swyre  they  came  to  the  village  of  Fleetham 
Regis  and  there,  at  the  Heron  Inn,  they  stopped 
and  drank.  Then  they  pursued  their  way  through 
the  same  rain  and  the  same  sand  dunes  to  Tilcombe. 

At  Tilcombe  Montague  Burge  found  that  the 
chief  inn  was  the  Plough;  the  Anchor  was  further 


234    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

on  along  the  coast.  Montague  Burge  could  not 
conceive  how  a  village  of  a  dozen  cottages  could 
support  two  inns. 

A  low,  whitewashed,  thatched,  two-story  build- 
ing, the  Anchor,  stood  by  itself  a  mile  from  Til- 
combe,  which  lay  to  the  south  of  it,  and  several 
miles  from  anywhere  to  the  north.  His  knowledge 
of  the  history  of  his  country,  acquired  at  a  com- 
mercial academy,  was  too  slight  to  inform  him  that 
it  was  quite  plainly  a  relic  of  the  great  smuggling 
industry,  by  which  the  ancestors  of  the  inhabitants 
of  Tilcombe  had  so  richly  lived.  It  boasted  a 
scrubby,  wind-blasted  flower  garden  in  the  front 
of  it,  more  garden,  a  cow-house,  and  pig-sties  be- 
hind it.  A  cow,  a  calf,  a  heifer,  and  two  steers, 
all  very  lean,  all  of  them  peering  through  the  gate 
of  the  yard,  as  if  it  was  there  they  looked  to  find 
their  food,  showed  that  the  publican  followed  also 
the  profession  of  grazier.  Before  he  got  out  of  the 
trap  Montague  Burge  anathematized  it  as  the  most 
God-forsaken  place  he  had  ever  set  eyes  on. 

The  landlord,  apprised  by  his  letter  of  the  com- 
ing of  Montague  Burge,  was  standing  on  the  thresh- 
old to  welcome  him.  He  was  a  dull-looking, 
weather-beaten,  lean  man,  who  looked  more  like  a 
half-starved  fisherman  than  a  licensed  victualler. 
Two  little  shock-headed  girls  peered  at  the  new- 
comer round  their  father's  legs. 

Montague  Burge  descended  from  the  trap  and 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    235 

paid  the  driver.  The  landlord  carried  his  portman- 
teau into  the  inn,  came  back,  peered  earnestly  into 
the  back  of  the  trap,  and  asked  where  the  gentle- 
man's gun-case  was.  Montague  Burge  said  with 
some  curtness  that  he  had  come  for  his  health,  not 
for  shooting.  He  went  gloomily  into  the  inn  and 
found  that  the  rooms  downstairs  were  a  tap-room 
and  a  kitchen.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  tap-room ; 
and  in  the  kitchen  there  was  not  only  a  fire  but  chil- 
dren. He  ordered  a  fire  to  be  lighted  in  the  tap- 
room, and  while  the  landlord's  wife  was  lighting 
it,  he  went  into  the  kichen  to  get  the  June  chill  out 
of  his  bones.  The  children  stared  at  Montague 
Burge ;  Montague  Burge  stared  gloomily  at  the  fire. 
But  when  he  came  to  go  into  the  matter  he  found 
that  the  inn  was  not  so  bad  as  it  looked.  It 
seemed  that  the  landlord,  or  rather  his  wife,  was 
used  to  providing  for  gentlemen.  Ascetic  young 
fellows  were  in  the  habit  of  coming  dov/n  in  the 
autumn,  winter,  and  early  spring  to  shoot  duck  in 
the  marshes,  which  began  half  a  mile  inland  from 
the  inn.  There  was  a  basket  chair,  which  was  not 
uncomfortable,  in  the  tap-room,  and  when  the  fire 
had  burned  up,  Montague  Burge  settled  himself  in 
it  to  await  the  coming  of  the  friend  of  Mr.  Harold 
Walters.  For  his  dinner,  or,  as  the  landlord  called 
it,  his  supper,  Montague  Burge  had  a  dish  of  eggs 
and  bacon.  The  bacon  was  local  and  green,  but 
after  his  drive  through  the  nipping  June  air  his  ap- 


236    THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

petite  was  good,  and  he  enjoyed  it  far  more  than  he 
would  have  enjoyed  a  much  better  meal  in  London. 
Fortunately,  distrusting  the  whisky  of  the  country, 
he  had  put  a  couple  of  bottles  of  his  own  into  his 
portmanteau.  It  improved  his  meal  and  his  spirits ; 
he  looked  to  it  to  cheer  the  hours  till  the  coming 
of  the  friend  of  Mr.  Harold  Walters. 

At  half-past  seven  three  fishermen  came  to  the 
inn  and  talked  slowly  with  many  pauses  to  one  an- 
other and  the  landlord  over  their  pots  of  beer. 
Montague  Burge  smoking  a  cigar  in  front  of  the 
fire  paid  but  little  heed  to  their  talk  of  crops  and 
the  sea;  but  his  business  instinct  caused  him  to  ob- 
serve that  the  three  of  them  together  spent  sixpence 
on  beer  in  the  course  of  the  evening.  Montague 
Burge  fell  into  a  light  doze  and  came  out  of  it  with 
a  jerk.  As  he  awoke  he  had  the  faintest  and  most 
fleeting  vision  of  a  face  looking  out  of  the  dark- 
ness at  him  through  the  uncurtained  window.  He 
fancied  (it  was  no  more  than  a  fancy,  so  brief 
had  the  vision  been)  that  it  was  the  face  of  Colonel 
Webling. 

He  sat  bolt  upright,  staring  at  the  window,  be- 
wildered. It  could  not  be  the  face  of  Colonel  Web- 
ling.  He  was  in  London.  What  should  he  be  do- 
ing here,  at  this  end  of  the  world,  on  a  dark  and 
rainy  night?  Of  course  it  was  not  Colonel  Web- 
ling.  But  he  was  uncomfortable.  If  it  should 
have  been  Colonel  Webling? 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    237 

He  rose  and  went  up  the  narrow,  awkward  stairs 
to  his  low  bedroom,  pondering.  He  got  to  bed; 
but  the  June  chill  had  got  into  the  room,  the  bed 
was  cold,  and  he  was  long  getting  to  sleep.  The 
thought  of  Colonel  Webling  at  Tilcombe  haunted 
him,  troubled  him.  Suppose  that  the  Chief  had 
taken  his  suggestion  of  getting  rid  of  Andrew 
Rawnsley  in  bad  part ;  suppose  he  had  told  Andrew 
Rawnsley — his  employer  would  make  no  bones 
about  getting  rid  of  him. 

Once  he  got  shivering  out  of  bed,  looked  care- 
fully to  the  bolt  of  the  door,  took  the  revolver  he 
had  brought  with  him  from  his  portmanteau,  and 
put  it  under  his  pillow.  Then  another  idea  occurred 
to  him,  why  should  not  Colonel  Webling  be  the 
friend  of  Mr.  Harold  Walters,  bringing  the  Wei- 
grave  jewels  ?  It  might  easily  be  that  Colonel  Web- 
ling was  also  a  member  of  the  gang  which  had 
stolen  the  jewels.  Webling  must  have  been  sur- 
prised at  rinding  Montague  Burge  waiting  to  re- 
ceive them.  Possibly  he  would  go  back  to  town, 
and  another  of  the  gang  would  bring  them.  But 
no.  Webling  would  bring  them  to-morrow  night. 
Much  cheered  by  this  view  of  the  matter  he  fell 
asleep. 

He  awoke  next  morning  to  find  the  sun  shining 
and  the  sea  still  and  very  blue.  He  came  down  to 
his  breakfast  in  very  good  spirits.  His  vision  of 
the  face  of  Colonel  Webling  at  the  window  had 


been  a  nonsensical  fancy.  He  had  been  but  half 
awake  and  was  still  dreaming.  He  ate  bacon  and 
eggs  with  great  gusto.  After  breakfast  he  lighted 
his  cigar  and  was  but  faintly  annoyed  to  learn 
that  there  would  be  no  newspaper  at  Tilcombe  be- 
fore half-past  one.  The  day  was  so  fine  and  fresh 
and  warm  that  he  had  little  desire  to  read  what  was 
happening  in  cities.  He  fetched  his  walking  stick 
from  his  bedroom ;  he  did  not  bother  to  take  the  re- 
volver with  him  in  the  daytime,  and  set  out  for  a 
walk.  He  had  gone  nearly  a  hundred  yards  when 
he  heard  a  shouting  behind  him.  He  looked  round 
and  saw  the  landlord  standing  in  front  of  the  inn, 
waving  his  arm. 

The  landlord  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth  and 
shouted  something  about  the  sands.  Montague 
Burge  thought  that  it  sounded  like  "Mind  the 
sands."  The  landlord  shouted  again  and  Montague 
Burge  caught  the  word  "Quicksands."  Since  he  did 
not  propose  to  go  down  to  the  sands  there  was  no 
need  for  him  to  mind  them.  He  waved  his  stick 
and  went  briskly  on,  skirting  the  sea,  among  the 
sand  dunes.  The  road  proper  ended  at  the  Anchor, 
and  he  was  walking  along  a  rude  track,  turfed  with 
sparse,  wiry  grass.  He  walked  briskly  for  rather 
more  than  half  an  hour,  then  he  stopped,  took  out 
his  handkerchief,  and  wiped  his  brow.  The  sun  was 
uncommonly  warm  for  June.  He  sat  down  on  the 
top  of  a  low  dune  and  lighted  a  cigar.  It  was  then 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    239 

that  the  loneliness  of  the  place  suddenly  struck  him. 
He  had  never  been  in  such  a  lonely  place  in  his  life. 
A  little  chill  ran  down  his  back,  the  chill  that  tells 
you  that  some  one  is  walking  over  your  grave. 
Suppose  that  Colonel  Webling  should  be  at  Til- 
combe.  Suddenly  he  remembered  with  extraordi- 
nary vividness  the  face  of  Colonel  Webling  when 
he  had  said  that  he  would  knock  Crinkly  Billson 
on  the  head  for  three  hundred  pounds.  He  rose 
quickly  and  looked  fearfully  round  the  sand  dunes. 
He  wished  he  had  brought  his  revolver  with  him. 
Then  over  the  top  of  a  sand  dune  forty  yards  away 
he  saw  a  curious  object.  It  was  odd,  yet  it  was 
familiar,  a  dark-green  object  about  three  inches 
high  and  seven  or  eight  inches  long.  It  was  the 
top  of  a  Hamburg  hat! 

His  heart  leaped  into  his  mouth.  He  had  once 
seen  Colonel  Webling  wearing  a  green  Homburg 
hat. 

He  stood  quite  still,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe. 
The  thoughts  raced  through  his  mind,  confused, 
hurrying.  The  wearer  of  the  Homburg  hat  was 
between  him  and  the  Anchor  Inn.  He  stood  for 
five  minutes  quite  still,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 
The  wearer  of  the  Homburg  hat  never  stirred. 
He  was  waiting — waiting  ten  yards  from  the 
path. 

Montague  Surge's  wits  began  to  clear.  Colonel 
Webling  was  waiting  to  spring  upon  him  as  he  re- 


240    THE  HOUSH  ON  THE  MALL 

turned.  Why  indeed  should  he  not  be  waiting  to 
shoot  him?  The  sudden  wail  of  a  swooping  gull 
above  his  head  made  him  start,  his  knees  knocked 
together  and  his  teeth  chattered.  He  could  not 
keep  his  jaws  still.  He  was  gazing  out  to  sea  side- 
ways. The  top  of  the  hat  was  just  in  the  corner 
of  his  eye.  Suddenly  it  had  gone. 

Montague  Burge  came  down  the  side  of  the  dune 
at  a  little  run,  then  he  set  out  briskly  along  the 
path,  still  away  from  Tilcombe.  He  knew  that 
there  was  a  village,  Wicksey,  five  miles  along  the 
coast.  The  landlord  had  told  him  so.  It  could  not 
now  be  more  than  three  miles  away.  He  must  get 
to  it.  He  could  travel  faster  than  Colonel  Webling. 
He  was  going  straight.  Colonel  Webling  must  zig- 
zag among  the  dunes.  He  walked  fast,  but  not  too 
fast;  his  pursuer  must  not  guess  that  he  knew  that 
he  was  being  hunted. 

A  mile  further  on  he  came  round  a  dune  to  find 
that  the  shore  became  a  hundred  yards  of  swamp, 
through  the  middle  of  which  a  stream  ran  out  to 
sea.  At  the  sight  a  sob  broke  from  him.  He  stood 
still,  gazing  wildly  round,  panic-stricken  indeed. 
Then  his  wits  cleared.  He  had  a  chance — the  open 
sand.  He  must  get  past  Webling  in  the  open  and 
run  for  it.  He  was  five  years  younger  than  Web- 
ling. 

He  turned  and  went  down  to  the  sand.  There 
was  a  stretch  of  some  seventy  yards  of  it  between 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    241 

the  sea  and  the  dunes.  He  did  not  go  quickly;  he 
wished  to  appear  at  his  ease.  He  took  a  slanting 
course  toward  the  water,  turned  back  toward  Til- 
combe.  He  had  not  gone  forty  yards  when  Colonel 
Webling  came  out  of  the  dunes  fifty  yards  higher 
up.  The  sunlight  glimmered  on  the  revolver  in  his 
hand.  To  Montague  Burge  that  glimmer  was 
brighter  than  all  the  sunlight  on  the  sea. 

He  started  to  run.  Colonel  Webling  came  to- 
ward him  at  a  gentle  trot,  cutting  him  off.  Mon- 
tague Burge  swerved  toward  the  water  and  ran  his 
hardest.  Colonel  Webling  trotted  twenty  yards 
down  the  sand  and  stood  still.  He  knew  the  dis- 
trict. Suddenly  Montague  Burge  found  the  sand 
heavy,  clogging  his  feet.  He  plunged  on;  in  an- 
other stride  it  was  above  his  ankles — sucking. 
With  a  terrific  effort  he  tore  himself  free  and  made 
another  plunge  toward  the  sea.  He  sank  above  his 
knees.  He  twisted  round  toward  the  shore  and 
tried  to  drag  himself  back  to  the  firmer  sand;  but 
the  sand  sucked  at  him.  In  three  seconds  it  was 
halfway  up  his  thighs ;  then  he  understood  the  shout 
of  the  landlord — quicksand! 

He  struggled.  He  tried  to  throw  himself  for- 
ward and  float  on  its  treacherous  surface,  but  the 
sand  sucked  and  sucked. 

It  was  above  his  waist.  He  began  to  howl  like 
a  lost  dog — the  sand  sucked.  It  was  up  to  his  arm- 
pits. His  howls  were  long-drawn,  monotonous. 


242    THB  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Altogether  there  were  eight  of  them.  Then  the 
sand  covered  his  mouth.  In  less  than  twenty  sec- 
onds only  his  hat  was  above  the  sand.  It  stayed 
there — floating. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

A    DISCUSSION 

THE  Marquess  rubbed  his  cheek  and  stared 
solemnly  at  Nancy.  Nancy  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  meeting  his  steady  gaze,  for  she 
was  very  angry. 

"You  don't  realize  what  you've  done,"  said  the 
Marquess. 

"Yes,  I  do !"  said  Nancy  with  intense  conviction. 

"You  can't.  You  can't  realize  what  horrors  of 
remorse  you  will  feel  when  I  am  Prime  Minister 
of  England  and  you  remember  that  you  slapped 
me." 

"I  shan't  feel  any  remorse  at  all!"  said  Nancy, 
with  even  more  intense  conviction. 

"Wait — wait  till  that  time  comes,"  said  the  Mar- 
quess in  a  pained  tone.  "You  don't  know  what  a 
difference  it  will  make  in  your  feelings  when  I  am 
actually  Prime  Minister." 

"It  won't  make  any  difference  at  all,"  said  Nancy. 

"This  hardness  is  perverse  indeed,"  said  the 
Marquess  very  gloomily.  "To  think  that  one  so 
young,  and  apparently  so  beautiful,  should  go  about 
the  world  striking  members  of  His  Majesty's  Gov- 
ernment." 

243 


244    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"I  don't,"  said  Nancy.  "I've  never  had  to  strike 
any  one  before — you  know  I  haven't." 

"Can  the  race  of  man  be  indeed  so  blind?"  said 
the  Marquess  in  a  tone  of  the  greatest  surprise. 
"Now,  I  can  never  see  you  without  wanting  to  kiss 
you." 

"You've  no  business  to  talk  to  me  like  that,"  said 
Nancy  with  great  dignity. 

"But  I  have,"  said  the  Marquess.  "Out  of  poli- 
tics my  motto  is,  'The  truth  at  all  costs.'  Besides, 
it's  only  natural.  I'm  your  friend,  aren't  I?" 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  kissing?"  said 
Nancy. 

"But  you  kiss  your  other  friends — that  girl  at 
Alington  now  you  told  me  about — you  used  to  kiss 
her.  Why  shouldn't  you  kiss  me?" 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  Nancy  with  cold  dig- 
nity. 

"I'm  not  talking  nonsense,"  said  the  Marquess 
firmly.  "As  a  politician  pledged  to  support  a  Bill 
for  the  Enfranchisement  of  Women — unless  I  am 
called  away  on  sudden  business — I  do  not  believe  in 
these  sex  disabilities.  If  you  kiss  a  girl  friend  you 
ought  to  kiss  a  man  friend.  It's  obvious." 

Nancy  scorned  to  answer  him.  She  gazed  at  him 
sideways  contemptuously.  The  Marquess  gazed  at 
her  solemnly.  It  was  undignified,  but  it  became 
a  staring  match,  and  the  Marquess  won. 

"Well  now  ?"  he  said  in  a  very  patient  tone. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    245 

"Now  what?"  said  Nancy  impatiently. 

"That  kiss — now  that  I've  explained  things," 
said  the  Marquess. 

Nancy  rose  hastily  and  removed  herself  swiftly 
to  the  distance  of  three  paces. 

"You've  no  business  to  talk  to  me  like  this,"  she 
said. 

On  her  words  Andrew  Rawnsley  came  round  the 
end  of  the  shrubbery,  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  his  head  bare,  and  his  silky 
white  hair  a  little  ruffled  by  the  light  June  breeze. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  cigar,  which  is  somehow 
preventive  of  true  reverence,  he  would  have  looked 
the  most  venerable  man  in  England.  He  stopped 
short,  and  his  keen  eyes  scanned  the  faces  of  Nancy 
and  the  Marquess.  Nancy  was  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
were  sparkling  very  brightly.  The  Marquess  was 
only  flushed  on  one  cheek,  and  the  flush  was  curi- 
ously, but  very  distinctly,  shaped  like  the  palm  of 
a  hand  and  four  fingers. 

The  Marquess-  rose,  and  said  carelessly,  "Ah, 
Rawnsley,  I  was  looking  for  you." 

"Evidently:  and  you  found  Miss  Weston.  The 
young  have  all  the  luck,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley 
dryly. 

"Yes ;  I  paused — I  paused — to — er — instruct  Miss 
Weston  in  the — er — proper  attitude  of  the  subjects 
of  our  Sovereign  toward  future  Prime  Ministers.** 

"Yes ;  I  see.    You  instructed  Miss  Weston  in  this 


246     THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

duty,  and  she  did  it,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley,  and 
he  looked  at  the  single  flushed  cheek  of  the  Mar- 
quess in  a  very  pointed  fashion. 

"No — no — she  hadn't  done  it  exactly,"  said 
the  Marquess  with  thoughtful  slowness.  "We  had 
only  just  come  to  the  end  of  my — er — discourse. 
She  was  just  going  to  do  it." 

"Oh!  I  wasn't!"  cried  Nancy. 

"I  expect  Miss  Weston  would  take  a  good  deal 
of  instructing.  Well,  you'll  find  me  in  the  house 
since  you  want  me,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley,  and 
he  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  back  round  the  end 
of  the  shrubbery. 

"The  world  is  full  of  people  who  interrupt,"  said 
the  Marquess  gloomily.  "It's  full  of  them.  Just 

at  the  very  moment  that  you  were  going  to  give 
» 

"I  wasn't!"  cried  Nancy,  and  her  eyes  blazed  at 
him.  "You  know  I  wasn't !  I  think  you're  horrid 
— detestable — to  make  Mr.  Rawnsley  think  that!" 

"But  why  not?  Now  that  I've  made  things  so 
clear,"  said  the  Marquess  in  a  tone  of  pained  surprise. 

Nancy  ground  her  teeth.  She  said  in  a  low, 
rather  thick  tone  of  extreme  exasperation,  "Oh,  go 
and  talk  to  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe!" 

She  turned  and  walked  quickly  down  the  path. 
The  Marquess  did  not  follow  her.  He  stood  quite 
still  gazing  after  her,  then  his  face  broke  into  his 
delightful  smile. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

CRINKLY    BILLSON    LEARNS    THE    SECRET    OF    THE 
CIRCULAR  CELLAR 

AT  half-past  twelve  on  the  Friday,  Andrew 
Rawnsley  was  sitting  in  his  office  in  the 
Emporium.    He  had  just  finished  signing  a 
batch  of  letters  which  Nancy  had  typed;  and  he 
took  out  his  cigarette  case  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 
There  came  a  knock  at  the  door  and  a  clerk  came 
in  bringing  a  telegram.     Andrew  Rawnsley  took 
it  from  him  and  opened  it.    It  ran  : 

"No  keys  ottoman." 

Andrew  Rawnsley  stared  at  it,  frowning,  for 
more  than  a  minute.  The  clerk  stood  still,  waiting 
to  hear  if  there  were  any  answer.u 

Andrew  Rawnsley  looked  up  at  him,  and  said : 
"There's  no  answer.  Will  you  tell  Mr.  Hargreave 
to  send  all  the  ledgers  of  the  Jewelry  Department 
round  to  Mr.  Burge's  house  in  Ravenscourt  Ave- 
nue. Telephone  to  my  house  and  tell  them  to  send 
round  my  car." 

The  clerk  went;  and  Andrew  Rawnsley  sat  still, 
frowning  in  deep  thought. 

247 


248    THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

Presently  he  took  from  his  drawer  two  telegraph 
forms,  and  rising,  said:  "I  want  to  use  your  ma- 
chine a  minute,  Miss  Weston." 

Nancy  rose  from  her  chair ;  and  he  sat  down  in  it. 
The  first  telegram  he  addressed  to  Crinkly  Billson. 
It  ran : 

"Trouble.  Meet  brown  motor  car  Hammersmith 
end  Hammersmith  Bridge  eleven  to-night." 

The  second  telegram  he  addressed  to  Montague 
Surge's  housekeeper.  It  ran : 

"Meet  nine-thirty  train  at  Liverpool  Street  to- 
night. Bring  evening  dress  and  suit-case.  Wait. 
Burge." 

He  counted  the  words  in  the  telegrams,  put 
stamps  on  them,  and  put  them  into  his  pocket.  He 
took  his  shiny  top  hat  from  its  peg,  told  Nancy 
that  she  could  go,  and  went  through  the  office,  down 
the  stairs,  and  out  of  one  of  the  front  doors  of  the 
Emporium.  As  he  came  out  of  it  his  car  was  draw- 
ing up  to  the  curb.  Andrew  Rawnsley's  servants 
did  not  waste  time. 

He  bade  his  chauffeur  drive  him  to  Richmond 
and  round  the  Park.  On  the  outskirts  of  Richmond 
Town  he  stopped  the  car  at  a  pillar-box  and  posted 
the  telegram  to  Crinkly  Billson.  On  the  top  of 
Richmond  Hill  he  stopped  the  car  again  at  another 
pillar-box  and  posted  the  telegram  to  Montague 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    249 

Burge's  housekeeper.  Then  he  drove  round  the 
Park  and  back  to  the  House  on  the  Mall. 

After  lunch  he  sent  Annie  to  Herbert  Wilson  to 
beg  him  to  come  round  to  him;  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes he  came.  Andrew  Rawnsley  passed  the  cigars 
to  him,  and  when  he  had  lighted  one  said :  "About 
the  floor  of  the  circular  cellar.  How  long  would  it 
revolve  without  stopping?" 

"It's  merely  a  matter  of  keeping  the  ball-bear- 
ings lubricated,  I  should  say  that  it  would  re- 
volve for  months  at  a  moderate  speed,"  said  Her- 
bert Wilson. 

"I  don't  want  it  to  revolve  at  a  moderate  speed; 
I  want  it  to  revolve  fast,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley. 

"Well,  I'll  guarantee  it  to  revolve  at  two  hundred 
and  fifty  revolutions  a  minute  for  seven  days.  It's 
in  perfect  order,  I  tried  it  yesterday.  But  of  course 
it  would  want  careful  watching  all  the  time." 

"Have  you  got  the  power  to  run  it  at  that  rate 
and  the  oil  to  keep  it  lubricated?"  said  Andrew 
Rawnsley. 

"Yes,  I've  got  both  and  to  spare." 

"Then  I  can  rely  on  two  hundred  and  fifty  revo- 
lutions a  minute  for  three  days  to  an  absolute  cer- 
tainty." 

"Yes,"  said  Herbert  Wilson. 

"Good,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley.  "By  the  way, 
how  are  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale  and  Nancy  get- 
ting along?" 


25Q    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"How  do  you  mean?"  said  Herbert  Wilson. 

"Well,  they're  very  much  in  love  with  one  an- 
other, aren't  they?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  never  thought  about  it,"  said 
Herbert  Wilson,  in  a  tone  of  great  surprise. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  laughed :  "Well,  you'll  have 
that  cellar  floor  ready  to  start  revolving  at  eleven 
o'clock  to-night,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  you  can  rely  on  it,"  said  Herbert  Wilson, 
rising  to  go.  As  he  went  out  of  the  door  he  added : 
"I'm  very  proud  of  that  cellar  floor." 

"Why  only  the  cellar  floor?  All  your  under- 
ground devices  are  excellent,"  said  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley. 

At  nine  o'clock  that  night  Paul  Mauleverer  was 
strolling  down  Ravenscourt  Avenue  with  the  most 
careless  air  in  the  world,  smoking  a  cigar.  He 
looked  a  very  pleasant,  idle  gentleman.  It  was  a 
cloudy  night;  and  the  dusk  had  fallen  early.  He 
turned  in  through  the  gate  of  Montague  Surge's 
garden,  went  quietly  up  the  steps,  and  let  himself 
into  the  house.  When,  three  years  before,  his  agent 
had  let  the  house  to  Montague  Burge,  the  sixth 
Marquess  of  Drysdale  had  thought  it  well  to  retain 
one  of  the  latch-keys.  There  were  few  things  that 
the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale  did  not  think  of; 
but  Montague  Burge  had  never  thought  to  change 
the  lock  on  his  front  door. 

Paul    Mauleverer   went    straight   up   the   stairs 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    251 

to  Montague  Burgc's  study.  As  he  expected,  on  the 
top  of  the  roll-top  desk  stood  the  three  big  ledgers 
of  the  Jewelry  Department  of  Rawnsley's  Empori- 
um. He  drew  down  the  blind  and  drew  the  thick 
curtains  across  the  window.  Then  he  took  from  a 
case  one  of  those  very  sharp,  short,  broad  knives 
which  booksellers  use,  and  attacked  the  ledgers. 
He  worked  with  extraordinary  speed  and  dexterity. 
He  might  have  spent  all  his  life  cutting  pages  out  of 
ledgers  and  crumpling  them — never  more  than  two 
pages  together.  He  threw  the  crumpled  leaves  un- 
der the  desk  till  the  central  part  was  full;  then  he 
heaped  the  others  round  the  desk  till  it  stood  three 
feet  deep  in  crumpled  paper.  He  was  half  an  hour 
doing  it;  and  though  the  work  was  light,  at  the 
end  of  that  half  hour  he  was  perspiring  freely,  he 
worked  so  swiftly.  There  were  four  candles  in  can- 
dlesticks about  the  room;  and  in  a  couple  of  min- 
utes he  had  shredded  them  into  flakes  all  over  the 
pile  of  paper.  He  emptied  the  oil  from  the  reser- 
voir of  a  brass  reading-lamp  on  to  the  desk  itself. 
Then  he  struck  a  match  and  lighted  the  bottom  of 
the  pile  in  two  places.  He  walked  quietly  to  the 
door,  paused,  looked  at  the  mounting  flame,  and 
smiled. 

"So  much  for  the  precautions  of  my  faithful  man- 
ager," he  said  softly. 

He  went  out  of  the  room,  locked  the  door,  and 
put  the  key  in  his  pocket.  He  went  out  of  the  house, 


252     THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

and  walked  quietly  up  the  street.    He  did  not  even 
trouble  to  look  behind  him. 

Crinkly  Billson  had  been  spending  an  agitated 
afternoon.  The  telegram  had  frightened  him.  He 
•»  did  not  know  what  the  trouble  was  about.  It  might 
be  about  the  Aldington  jewels,  or  the  sandbagging 
of  the  young  man  in  Malkin  Lane;  in  that  case  it 
was  not  a  matter  for  any  great  uneasiness.  The 
Chief  would  see  to  it.  But  it  might  be  trouble 
about  the  murder  of  Henry  Rawnsley;  in  that  case 
there  was  indeed  reason  to  be  uneasy.  Not  only  the 
police  but  the  Chief  also  were  to  be  feared  in  that. 
He  spent  quite  a  lot  of  the  afternoon  muttering  ex- 
ecrations against  the  tempter,  Shore- Wardell,  who 
had  exposed  him,  to  so  little  purpose,  to  the  Chief's 
enmity. 

He  was  at  the  end  of  Hammersmith  Bridge  at 
half-past  ten  and  he  found  the  half-hour  wait  very 
.  trying,  though  he  had  done  his  best  to  brace  his 
T  courage  with  abundant  whisky.  At  eleven  o'clock, 
even  as  the  clocks  were  striking,  the  brown  motor- 
car came  down  the  bridge.  He  recognized  it ;  it  was 
the  motor-car  with  the  Cape  hood  in  which  Mon- 
tague Burge  had  brought  them  back  from  Chipper- 
field  Common.  He  saw  the  driver's  white  beard 
and  thought  that  it  was  Mr.  Shore- Wardell.  The 
driver  stopped  the  car  with  a  jerk  and  beckoned  to 
him.  He  slipped  into  the  seat  by  his  side.  Then 
he  perceived  that  it  was  not  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  but 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    253 

an  older  and  far  more  benevolent  looking  gentle- 
man. He  inspired  confidence. 

"I'm  glad  you  were  punctual,"  said  the  gentle- 
man ;  and  he  set  the  car  going  again. 

Crinkly  Billson  did  not  say  anything;  he  waited 
for  the  gentleman  to  speak.  But  the  gentleman  said 
nothing,  he  drove  the  car  up  into  King's  Street  and 
down  the  Chiswick  High  Road,  then  down  Chis- 
wick  Lane  and  back  along  the  Mall.  Crinkly  Bill- 
son  swore  under  his  breath  when  it  stopped  within 
twenty  feet  of  the  spot  where  he  had  murdered  Hen- 
ry Rawnsley.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  but 
he  held  himself  ready  to  make  a  fight. 

The  benevolent  old  gentleman  got  out  of  the  car 
and  said,  "Come  along." 

Crinkly  Billson  had  thought  once  or  twice  that 
he  was  driving  rather  wildly,  and  now  he  observed 
that  he  crossed  the  pavement  and  went  up  the  steps 
of  the  house  with  something  of  a  stagger.  Plainly 
he  was  not  quite  sober.  It  was  reassuring.  He  hesi- 
tated; then  he  followed  him  with  a  slightly  crouch- 
ing gait,  ready  to  spring.  Andrew  Rawnsley  opened 
the  door,  let  the  pugilist  in,  and  led  the  way  across 
the  dimly  lighted  hall  and  down  the  corridor  to  the 
library.  He  hiccoughed  twice  on  the  way.  On  a 
table  before  the  fire  stood  whisky,  syphons,  glasses 
and  cigars.  He  bade  the  pugilist  help  himself. 

When  he  had  mixed  a  whisky  and  soda  and  light- 
ed a  cigar,  Andrew  Rawnsley  said  in  a  rather  thick 


254    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

voice,  slurring  his  words :  "The  trouble  ish  about 
the  Aldington  jewels,  Mr.  Billson.  The  poleesh 
haven't  got  wind  of  you  at  all,  but  they  may;  and 
the  Chief  thought  you'd  better  be  ready." 

"Raight  O !"  said  the  pugilist,  cheerfully. 

He  was  greatly  relieved.  To  find  himself  on  the 
Mall  within  a  few  yards  of  the  spot  where  he  had 
murdered  Henry  Rawnsley,  had  trebled  his  uneasi- 
ness. It  was  cheering  to  hear  that  it  was  only  the 
matter  of  the  Aldington  jewels  which  was  in  ques- 
tion. He  drank  off  his  whisky  and  soda  and  reached 
for  the  decanter. 

"Yes ;  as  a  matter  of  fact  ther'sh  nothing  for  you 
to  bother  about.  They're  only  on  the  track  of  the 
driver  of  the  car,  and  not  very  closely  on  his  track. 
But  where  the  poleesh  are  concerned,  it's  always 
well  to  be  prepared ;  and  it  may  be  better  for  you  to 
leave  the  country,"  said  the  old  gentleman;  and  he 
hiccoughed  again. 

Crinkly  Billson  drank  off  half  of  his  second  glass 
of  whisky  and  soda  and  said :  "There's  no  need  to 
bother  about  me,  gov'ner,  I  took  my  precautions,  I 
did.  There's  a  house  full  of  people  as  can  swear 
that  I  warn't  outer  Vauxhall  that  night.  I  went  ter 
bed  at  eleven  an'  goin'  upstairs  I  rysed  'ell.  Then 
at  twelve  I  comes  down  in  my  stockings ;  an'  not  a 
soul  'card  me." 

"Good,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley.  "But  still  you 
might  find  that  the  poleesh  were  after  you;  and  in 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    255 

that  case  you're  to  come  to  this  house  and  hide  till 
we  can  get  you  safely  out  of  England ;  and  I  sent 
for  you  to  show  you  your  hiding-place." 

"Raight  O!"  said  the  pugilist. 

He  knew  that  he  would  never  have  any  need  to 
fly  to  the  House  on  the  Mall.  The  police  were 
bound  to  learn  that  he  had  never  been  out  of  Lon- 
don on  the  night  of  the  theft  of  the  Aldington  jew- 
els. He  was  sure  of  it. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  rose  and  said :  "Come  along 
and  I'll  show  you  the  hiding-place." 

He  led  the  way,  staggering  a  little,  out  of  the 
room,  along  the  corridor  and  into  the  hall.  At  the 
front  door  he  paused  and  said:  "When  you  knock 
at  this  door  a  girl  will  open  it — a  pretty  girl — don't 
you  stop  to  make  love  to  her."  He  chuckled  with 
vinous  glee.  "You  will  just  say  to  her,  'London' ; 
and  she'll  let  you  in.  Now  notice  carefully  the  way 
you  go.  You  don't  want  to  lose  your  way  and  be 
caught  by  the  police  wandering  about  the  basement. 
They  might  be  right  on  your  heels." 

He  led  the  way  down  into  the  basement  and  along 
the  passage  into  the  circular  cellar  at  the  end  of  it, 
switching  on  the  electric  light  and  adjuring  Billson 
to  be  sure  to  mark  the  way  as  he  went.  Then  he 
showed  him  the  spring  which  opened  the  little  panel 
which  disclosed  the  switches  which  worked  the  floor. 

"You  press  the  top  switch  so,"  he  said;  and 
pressed  the  bottom  switch. 


The  floor  moved  round  and  disclosed  the  steps 
leading  down  the  underground  passages.  Andrew 
Rawnsley  led  the  way  down,  and  switched  on  the 
electric  light  in  the  little  chamber  at  the  bottom. 
Crinkly  Billson  opened  his  eyes  and  his  mouth  in 
amazement.  The  shelves  in  the  wall  of  the  chamber 
were  loaded  with  silver  plate,  gleaming  in  the  light. 
One  of  the  shelves  was  heaped  with  bags. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  struck  one  of  the  bags  with 
his  fist.  It  chinked,  and  he  laughed  a  drunken  laugh 
and  said.  "Gold — gold.  The  Chief  keeps  part  of  his 
hoard  here." 

Crinkly  Billson  gasped ;  and  his  eyes  gleamed. 

"Now  you  go  down  this  passage — this  one  in 
front — and  you'll  find  a  little  room  at  the  end,  with 
an  armchair  and  a  bed  in  it — very  comfortable.  But 
mind  you  don't  go  down  any  of  the  other  passages. 
They're  not  safe,  Billson  my  boy,  not  safe.  Bear  it 
in  mind.  Well,  do  you  think  you'll  find  your  way  ?" 

"Trust  me,  gov'ner.  I  shan't  miss  it,"  said 
Crinkly  Billson. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  laughed  his  drunken  laugh 
again,  and  said:  "I'll  bet  you  won't.  Come  on." 

He  led  the  way  up  the  steps  into  the  cellar, 
switched  back  the  floor  to  its  right  position,  and 
went  out  of  the  cellar.  Crinkly  Billson  saw  that  he 
had  forgotten  to  close  the  little  panel  behind  which 
were  the  switches,  and  to  switch  off  the  light.  He 
did  not  point  out  to  him  these  omissions.  The  pu- 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THH  MALL    257 

gilist's  curious  red-brown  eyes  were  gleaming;  they 
looked  more  red  than  brown.  His  hand  was  behind 
him,  fingering  the  handle  of  a  life-preserver  in  his 
hip  pocket. 

Andrew  Rawnsley,  staggering  more  than  ever,  as 
if  the  cold  air  of  the  basement  had  increased  his 
intoxication,  led  the  way  along  the  passage,  up  to 
the  stairs,  and  into  the  hall.  At  the  front  door  he 
paused  and  said  with  a  chuckle : 

"Nobody  saw  you  come  in;  and  nobody  will  see 
you  go  out." 

The  pugilist  bared  his  teeth. 

"But  wait  a  minute — you'd  like  another  drink  be- 
fore you  go,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley. 

He  led  the  way  back  to  the  library.  Crinkly  Bill- 
son  kept  close  on  his  heels.  He  was  holding  the  life- 
preserver  in  his  hand,  under  his  jacket. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  made  two  steps  into  the  li- 
brary; the  pugilist  made  one  and  struck  at  the 
white  head.  Andrew  Rawnsley  pitched  forward 
on  to  his  face  and  lay  still. 

Crinkly  Billson  shut  the  door  softly  and  went 
down  the  corridor  and  across  the  hall  with  long, 
swift,  noiseless  strides.  At  the  top  of  the  stairs 
of  the  basement  he  stopped  to  listen  while  you  might 
count  a  score.  He  went  swiftly  down  the  stairs, 
along  the  passage  into  the  circular  cellar,  shut  the 
door,  crossed  the  cellar,  and  pressed  down  the  top 
switch. 


258    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

There  was  a  click;  a  sheet  of  steel  shot  out  from 
the  side  of  it  and  closed  the  opening  in  the  floor. 
The  floor  began  to  revolve.  There  was  another 
click;  and  the  panel  snapped  to  over  the  switches. 
The  floor  went  round.  To  the  pugilist's  surprise  it 
did  not  stop  at  the  head  of  the  steps  to  the  under- 
ground passages.  It  went  round  and  round,  faster. 
He  saw  that  something  had  gone  wrong,  and  as 
the  floor  brought  him  round  to  it,  he  seized  the 
handle  of  the  door.  The  handle  came  off  in  his 
hand. 

The  floor  went  faster.  Presently  he  found  it 
hard  to  keep  his  footing;  and  the  floor  went  faster 
still.  Suddenly  he  lost  his  balance,  pitched  forward 
and  only  just  saved  himself  from  striking  the  wall 
heavily.  He  sat  down  on  the  floor.  It  was  mak- 
ing seventy  revolutions  a  minute.  His  head  began 
to  whirl.  He  moved  towards  the  middle  of  the 
floor  and  the  moment  he  was  off  his  balance,  he 
rolled  and  struck  his  shoulder  hard  against  the  wall, 
The  spinning  floor  pitched  him  right  across  the  cel- 
lar and  his  knee  struck  the  opposite  wall.  He  re- 
bounded from  it  into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and 
using  all  the  skill  he  had  learned  in  years  of  box- 
ing, and  all  his  muscles,  he  contrived  to  get  himself 
flat  on  it,  spread-eagled.  His  head  was  whirling 
and  dizzy;  and  the  floor  spun  round  faster  and 
faster. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    259 

The  library  door  closed  softly ;  Andrew  Rawnsley 
lay  very  still.  For  two  minutes  he  did  not  stir; 
then  he  raised  his  head  cautiously.  Then  he  rose, 
smiling,  and  went  to  an  oblong  Venetian  mirror 
which  hung  against  the  right-hand  wall.  He  took 
off  his  wig  and  beard  and  laid  them  on  the  table, 
disclosing  his  head  in  a  tight-fitting  leather  cap 
which  covered  it  down  to  the  nape  of  his  neck.  He 
took  it  off;  and  it  jingled.  It  was  lined  with  close- 
set,  interlinked  steel  rings,  a  perfect  piece  of  chain- 
mail.  He  rubbed  his  head,  the  head,  needless  to 
say,  of  Paul  Mauleverer,  the  sixth  Marquess  of 
Drysdale,  ruefully.  The  pugilist  had  struck  hard. 
Then  he  went  to  his  chair  by  the  fire,  mixed  a 
whisky  and  soda,  and  lighted  a  cigar.  He  kept  look- 
ing at  the  clock  impatiently  for  perhaps  five  min- 
utes. Then  he  went  to  the  window,  opened  it  gen- 
tly, and  leaned  out.  A  humming  sound  caught  his 
ear;  and  he  laughed  softly. 

He  put  on  his  wig  and  beard,  whistling  a  pretty 
tune  from  a  musical  comedy,  went  briskly  to  the 
ground-floor  room  at  the  end  of  the  left  wing. 
When  he  came  into  it,  the  sound  of  humming  came 
very  clearly  to  his  ears;  it  was  as  though  a  great 
top  were  spinning  under  the  floor.  He  did  not 
trouble  to  switch  on  the  electric  light,  for  the  blinds 
were  undrawn  and  the  moon  was  shining.  He 
drew  aside  a  rug  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  set 
his  thumb  on  a  spring.  Four  feet  of  the  centre 


26o    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

plank  rose  and  remained  on  end.  The  hum  which 
came  through  the  opening  was  almost  a  low  roar. 
He  stretched  himself  down  on  the  rug  and  looked 
down  into  the  circular  cellar.  In  the  middle  of  the 
spinning  floor  lay  Crinkly  Billson,  spread-eagled, 
glued  to  it. 

But  he  did  not  at  all  present  the  appearance  of  a 
man  lying  on  a  floor :  it  was  spinning  too  fast. 
Crinkly  Billson  seemed  a  brown  circle  covering  the 
middle  of  the  floor.  He  might  have  been  a  brown 
carpet  on  a  circular  dais  seven  or  eight  inches  high, 
a  brown  carpet  with  a  black  border,  formed  by  his 
crinkly,  black,  spinning  hair.  And  yet  the  floor 
had  not  reached  its  maximum  speed ;  it  was  making 
rather  fewer  than  two  hundred  revolutions  a  minute. 
It  would  be  several  minutes  yet  before  it  reached  the 
two  hundred  and  fifty. 

The  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale  began  to  laugh 
grimly — gently  at  first,  and  then  louder  and  louder. 
Presently  his  grim,  vengeful  laughter  rose  to  a  roar ; 
and  the  tears  dropped  out  of  his  joyful  eyes  on  to 
the  spinning  Billson, 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

RUPERT  PROPOSES 

NANCY  came  from  her  interview  with  the 
Marquess  in  the  garden  with  a  perturbed 
spirit.  She  was  angry  with  him — not  very 
angry  perhaps,  but  angry.  To  her  surprise  she 
found  herself  trembling.  She  had  been  angry  when 
Montague  Burge  had  tried  to  kiss  her,  much  more 
angry  than  she  had  been  with  the  Marquess;  but 
she  had  not  trembled.  She  could  not  understand  it. 

However,  she  thought  that  the  trouble  would 
soon  pass  from  her  mind.  It  did  not.  The  trembling 
ceased  indeed,  but  it  seemed  to  have  affected  her 
nerves,  and  she  was  restless.  She  told  herself  that 
she  was  attaching  too  much  importance  to  the 
matter,  but  she  could  not  rid  her  mind  of  it.  She 
was  no  longer  angry  with  the  Marquess,  at  least 
not  very;  but  she  was  annoyed  with  him.  Things 
had  been  very  nice  as  they  were,  and  now  they 
would  be  different.  She  felt  that  he  had  changed 
their  relation;  how  she  did  not  know,  but  it  was 
changed. 

Then  she  grew  angry  with  him  again  at  the 
sudden  thought  of  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 

261 


262    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Europe.  He  was  going  to  marry  that  most  beauti- 
ful woman;  and  he  had  no  business  to  try  to  kiss 
anyone  else.  It  was  not  fair ;  it  was  not  right.  They 
had  been  on  such  simple,  friendly  terms,  and  on 
friendly  terms  only;  she  had  told  herself  so  more 
than  once.  Now,  that  was  spoiled.  He  had  made 
her  feel  uncertain  of  herself,  of  her  feelings. 

She  found  herself  flushing  and  grew  angry  again. 
He  most  certainly  must  not  be  encouraged  in  this 
course  of  conduct ;  and  she  would  firmly  discourage 
him.  She  tried  to  put  away  from  her  the  thought 
that  the  Marquess  would  be  entirely  unaffected  by 
any  discouraging  process  of  which  she  was  the  mis- 
tress. How  lightly  had  he  taken  that  slap;  and  in 
the  suddenness  of  the  surprise  at  finding  his  arm 
round  her,  she  had  slapped  with  all  her  might.  She 
was  visited  by  a  little  compunction  at  the  memory 
of  the  red  imprint  of  her  hand  on  his  cheek.  She 
checked  the  feeling  of  compunction  quickly ;  she  felt 
it  to  be  unworthy  of  her.  She  ought  to  rejoice  at 
having  punished  him  so  severely.  He  had  thor- 
oughly deserved  it.  But  how  little  had  it  affected 
him ;  he  had  make  a  joke  of  it,  and  at  once  gone  on 
to  ask  for  the  kiss  on  the  ridiculous  plea  that  they 
were  friends.  He  had  made  not  the  slightest  apol- 
ogy. Truly,  he  was  hard  to  discourage. 

She  was  again  annoyed  and  even  more  troubled 
to  find  that  she  could  not  rid  her  mind  of  the  mat- 
ter even  after  supper.  All  the  evening  her  spirit 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    263 

was  troubled;  and  she  was  restless.  She  could  not 
read ;  the  face  of  the  Marquess  kept  coming  between 
her  eyes  and  the  page.  She  saw  it  very  distinctly. 
When  she  went  to  bed  she  could  not  sleep;  the 
thought  of  the  Marquess  kept  her  awake.  She  kept 
revolving  the  incidents  of  their  intimacy.  Some- 
how he  was  altogether  changed  for  her;  she  saw 
him  with  different  eyes.  She  was  a  little  frightened 
of  him,  or  of  herself.  She  tossed  about  restlessly; 
and  it  was  nearly  dawn  before  she  fell  asleep.  She 
awoke  next  morning  to  a  changed  world.  She  de- 
sired to  see  the  Marquess  with  her  new  eyes;  yet 
she  feared  his  coming. 

When  she  came  that  afternoon  to  entertain  Ru- 
pert Drayton,  she  found  a  change  in  him  also;  it 
seemed  to  her  that  there  was  a  new  purpose  in  his 
eyes.  She  wondered  had  the  Marquess  changed  the 
whole  world  for  her.  Rupert  did  not  as  usual  beg 
her  to  talk  before  reading  to  him ;  he  let  her  begin 
to  read  and  gazed  at  her  earnestly  in  a  fashion  she 
found  discomfiting. 

Then  he  interrupted  her  suddenly  in  the  middle  of 
a  sentence,  and  said :  "Say,  Miss  Weston,  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

Nancy  set  her  book  on  her  lap  and  looked  at 
him,  smiling,  waiting  for  him  to  begin.  Then  she 
saw  that  his  eyes  were  shining  curiously,  and  that 
he  looked  excited.  Her  quiet,  expectant  gaze 
seemed  to  confuse  him. 


264    THE  HOUSE  OX  THE  MALL 

"I  don't  know  how  to  say  what  I  want  to,"  he 
began  in  a  faltering  tone,  "It's  just  beyond  me. 
But  —  but  —  you're  the  most  beautiful  girl  I  ever 
saw." 

"Oh,"  said  Nancy,  taken  aback  as  she  saw  what 
was  coming. 

"Yes;  and  you're  just  the  one  girl  in  the  world 
for  me,"  said  Rupert,  blurting  it  out  rather  desper- 
ately. "And  Fve  known  it  ever  since  I  first  set  eyes 
on  yon  in  that  restaurant." 

Nancy  did  not  say  anything  because  she  did  not 
know  what  to  say.  She  sat  gazing  at  him  with 
startled  eyes  and  her  lips  slightly  parted. 

Her  silence  and  the  fact  that  he  had  blurted  out 
his  declaration  gave  Rupert  a  little  confidence;  he 
went  on  in  an  easier  voice:  "Yes,  I'm  dead  sure 
you're  the  one  girl  in  the  world  for  me.  And  —  and 
—  will  you  marry  me?" 

Nancy  looked  at  him  as  if  she  could  not  believe 
her  ears,  and  indeed  she  hardly  could  believe  them. 
She  said,  faintly:  "Marry  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Rupert. 

Nancy  felt  that  men  had  suddenly  taken  to  be- 
having in  Ac  most  extraordinary  way  —  first  the 
Marquess,  and  now  Rupert.  She  realized  that  Ru- 
pert was  in  earnest,  in  dead  earnest.  His  eager  eyes 
devoured  her  face,  and  they  were  ashine  with  bright 


Oh,  I  can't,"  she  said 


THE  HOUSE  OX  THE  MALL     265 

''Ton  can't?  But  you've  been  so — so  kind  to 
me,  reading  and  talking  and  cheering  me  up.  And — 
and — you  seemed  so — so  interested  in  me — I  was 
thinking —  \\~hy  can't  you  marry  me  ?' 

''I'm  not  fond  enough  of  you,"  said  Nancy. 

"You're  not?"  said  Rupert,  in  a  tone  of  acute 
disappointment;  and  the  bright  hope  began  to  fade 
from  his  eyes.  He  gazed  at  her  perplexed  and 
troubled  face;  and  her  eyes  met  his  with  a  frank 
steadiness  which  disheartened  him.  Then  he  add- 
ed, "But  we  seemed  to  be  getting  so  friendly." 

"Yes,  friendly,"  said  Nancy. 

He  looked  at  her  with  knitted  brow ;  he  could  not 
accept  her  refusal  without  a  straggle;  he  was  too 
much  of  a  fighter.  Besides,  she  had  been  friendly — 
very  friendly.  Perhaps  he  had  done  wrong  to  take 
her  by  surprise;  he  had  been  clumsy;  he  ought  to 
have  let  her  see  how  he  was  feeling  about  her;  he 
ought  not  to  have  been  so  abrupt. 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  say  *No/  "  he  said,  in 
a  pleading  tone.  "I've  rather  rushed  you.  Think 
it  over  a  bit." 

Nancy  saw  that  he  was  desperately  in  earnest, 
and  she  shrank  from  hurting  him.  But  it  was  no 
use  awaking  false  hopes  in  him.  In  her  inexperi- 
ence she  had  never  for  a  moment  considered  him  in 
the  light  of  the  possible  lover.  He  had  never  talked 
like  a  lover,  nor  had  she  ever  seen  him  look  like  one, 

"I  don't  think  it  would  be  any  use  my  thinking 


266    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

it  over,"  she  said,  gently,  but  with  a  firmness  that 
made  his  heart  sink. 

He  looked  at  her,  frowning,  considering,  cudgell- 
ing his  brains  for  the  right  appeal.  He  could  not  let 
her  go  without  a  struggle. 

Then  he  said  slowly:  "I  should  do  my  best  to 
give  you  the  best  time  a  woman  ever  had.  And  I 
can  do  it ;  I've  got  two  millions  already ;  in  another 
five  years  I'll  have  ten.  I  can  give  you  everything 
you  could  dream  of — diamonds,  Paris  frocks,  autos, 
a  big  house  on  the  lake — everything.  You'd  like  it 
fine.  And  there  won't  be  a  woman  in  Chicago  any- 
where near  you.  You're  prettier,  ever  so  much  pret- 
tier than  any  of  them." 

"But  what's  the  good  of  all  that  if  I'm  not  fond 
of  you?"  said  Nancy,  gently. 

"I  know — I  know — it  don't  amount  to  a  row  of 
beans,"  said  Rupert,  frankly  but  despondently.  "But 
then  you'd  get  fond  of  me.  You're  the  kind  of  girl 
who'd  be  bound  to  be  fond  of  her  husband." 

"But  it  wouldn't  be  right  if  I  married  you  first," 
said  Nancy. 

"I'll  take  that  chance  and  willingly,"  said  Rupert, 
quickly. 

Nancy  shook  her  head. 

Rupert  saw  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  fight 
for  time. 

"Now  don't  you  hurry  to  say  'No',"  he  pleaded. 
"There  isn't  any  hurry  at  all.  I  want  you  to  think 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    267 

it  over  quietly.  I've  been  too  quick,  and  startled 
you.  You  want  time  to  get  used  to  the  idea." 

"No ;  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  let  you  go  on  hoping," 
said  Nancy,  earnestly.  "I'm  very  sorry;  but  it 
wouldn't  be  any  use  my  thinking  it  over." 

Rupert's  heart  sank  in  him ;  there  was  the  accent 
of  finality  in  her  tone.  He  said :  "It's  that  damned 
Marquess." 

"Oh,  no;  indeed  it  isn't!"  said  Nancy,  quickly. 
"He's  going  to  marry  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Europe." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

ANDREW  RAWNSLEY  TALKS  TO  INSPECTOR  GIFFEN 

THE  spinning  pugilist  was  quite  unaware  of 
the  falling  tears  of  the  sixth  Marquess  of 
Drysdale;  he  was  but  very  dimly  aware  of 
his  laughter.  When  at  last  the  Marquess  had 
laughed  his  fill,  he  shouted  loudly  down  at  the 
brown  carpet  with  the  black  border: 

"Remember  Henry  Rawnsley,  you  dog!  Henry 
Rawnsley !" 

His  shout  came  to  the  pugilist  faint  from  "tar 
away.  It  might  have  been  a  voice  shouting  to  him 
from  the  roof.  He  did  not  at  all  realize  that  it  was 
the  voice  of  the  benevolent  old  gentleman  whom  but 
a  few  minutes  before  he  had  knocked  on  the  head. 
The  meaning  of  the  words  was  slower  still  pene- 
trating his  whirling  brain ;  but  at  last  he  understood 
that  he  was  expiating  the  murder  on  the  Mall ;  and 
he  lost  hope. 

His  dizzy,  whirling  head  was  splitting  with  pain. 
He  was  not  lying  exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  re- 
volving floor.  His  head  was  nearly  a  foot  further 
from  the  centre  of  the  circle  than  his  feet;  and  as 

268 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    269 

the  floor  spun  faster  and  faster  it  drove  the  blood 
into  his  head  with  a  steadily  increasing  pressure. 
The  pain  was  growing  more  and  more  dreadful. 
His  head  was  being  crushed  in  a  slowly  tightening 
vice.  Now  and  again  a  horrible  pang  shot  through 
it  as  if  a  red  hot  needle  were  thrust  down  some 
nerve;  he  was  breathing  stertoriously,  like  an  apo- 
plectic. 

Suddenly  the  Marquess  saw  a  change  in  the  color 
of  the  carpet.  There  was  a  red  rim  beyond  the 
black  border.  A  narrow  red  rim  at  first,  it  grew 
broader  quickly.  He  perceived  that  the  blood  was 
being  forced  from  the  pugilist's  nose.  He  laughed 
again  grimly.  Then  he  pressed  down  the  plank, 
drew  the  rug  over  it,  and  went  to  bed. 

Twice  or  thrice  as  he  undressed  he  paused  to 
laugh  grimly  at  the  thought  of  his  vengeance. 

He  slept  peacefully.  Once  only  during  the  night 
was  he  awakened — by  his  own  grim  laughter;  he 
had  been  dreaming  of  his  son's  murderer  spinning 
round  on  the  cellar  floor.  He  did  not  go  to  look 
at  him  till  he  had  eaten  his  breakfast.  He  was  in  no 
hurry.  When  he  did  look  down  he  saw  that  the 
brown  carpet  had  now  a  dark  red  rim  nearly  two 
feet  wide  round  it,  and  that  the  brown  of  the  car- 
pet had  grown  lighter;  it  had  become  distinctly  a 
reddish  brown. 

Presently  the  Marquess  rose  quietly  from  his 
peephole  and  looked  round  the  room.  There  were 


270    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  At  ALL 

many  beautiful  objects  in  it,  as  indeed  there  were  in 
all  the  rooms  in  the  House  on  the  Mall.  From  them 
he  selected  a  small  Japanese  bronze  figure,  weighing 
two  or  three  pounds.  He  lay  down  again  over  his 
peephole,  and  dropped  the  figure  into  the  middle  of 
the  reddish  brown  carpet.  It  bounced  off  it,  touched 
the  spinning  floor,  and  dashed  with  swift  violence 
about  the  cellar,  striking  now  the  wall,  now  the 
floor,  and  now  the  spread-eagled  body  of  the  pu- 
gilist. Presently  it  came  to  rest,  wedged  somewhere 
against  it.  As  far  as  the  Marquess  could  see,  the 
pugilist  had  not  made  the  slightest  movement.  He 
rose,  closed  his  peephole,  and  came  beaming  out  of 
the  room.  He  was  in  a  deep  content  at  having  taken 
vengeance  on  one  of  the  murderers  of  his  son. 

He  went  out  into  the  garden,  smoked  a  cigar  in 
a  leisurely  fashion,  enjoyed  it  thoroughly  and  came 
back  into  the  house.  In  the  hall  he  put  on  his 
shiny  top-hat  and  then  went  into  the  dining-room. 
His  breakfast  still  stood  on  the  table;  he  cut  a  tin 
loaf  in  two  and  put  half  of  it  under  his  coat.  Then 
he  walked  round  to  No.  1 1  Malkin  Lane,  went  down 
into  the  cellar,  and  through  the  revolving  door  in 
the  wall  into  the  underground  passage.  He  went 
along  it,  through  the  central  chamber  (in  that  con- 
fined space,  the  spinning  floor  roared  rather  than 
hummed)  and  along  the  left-hand  passage.  Nearly 
at  the  end  of  it  he  stopped  and  switched  on  an  elec- 
tric light,  revealing  a  groove  in  the  wall.  He 


THH  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL     271 

pressed  a  spring;  and  the  lift  came  up  from  the 
prison  of  Inspector  Giffen.  The  water  jug  stood  on 
the  shelf  where  the  Inspector  had  set  it  after  he  had 
emptied  it.  The  Marquess  filled  it  from  a  can  which 
Pettigrew  had  set  beside  the  lift,  put  it  back  on  the 
shelf,  the  bread  beside  it,  and  sent  the  lift  down 
again.  Then  he  stooped  down  and  pulled  out  of  its 
hasp  a  steel  bar  which  held  down  a  slab. 

Inspector  Giffen  was  not  happy.  Used  to  a  gen- 
erous diet  he  found  mere  bread  an  unpalatable  food. 
He  missed  also,  even  more,  the  beer  with  which  he 
was  wont  to  wash  down  his  meals  and  the  whisky 
with  which  he  comforted  his  stomach  in  the  even- 
ings and  at  odd  times  during  the  day.  The  fact 
that  he  was  enjoying  a  rest-cure  with  the  appropri- 
ate diet  comforted  him  but  little ;  there  was  nothing 
of  the  faddist  about  Inspector  Giffen. 

His  situation  weighed  upon  him.  From  "Won- 
derful Escapes"  he  had  drawn  little  useful  infor- 
mation and  no  comfort.  None  of  the  wonderful 
escapes  seemed  to  have  been  made  from  so  far  un- 
der the  earth  as  he  believed  himself  to  be;  and 
none  of  them  had  been  made  from  a  cement  cham- 
ber. Also  every  escape  had  taken  weeks  or  months 
to  compass.  He  reflected  again  and  again  on  the 
character  of  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale;  and 
the  more  he  reflected  on  it  the  less  he  liked  it.  A 
man  who  had  murdered  his  wife,  at  the  most  for 
having  discovered  that  he  had  committed  bigamy, 


272    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

would  be  very  unlikely  to  make  any  bones  about 
murdering  a  detective  who  could  prove  him  guilty 
of  that  murder.  He  could  only  suppose  that  it  was 
Andrew  Rawnsley  who  had  preserved  him  from  in- 
stant death. 

He  had  only  half  a  candle  left  when  the  Mar- 
quess sent  down  his  light,  healthy  breakfast;  and 
he  was  grieved  to  perceive  that  no  fresh  candles 
came  down  with  it.  He  had  sat  down  on  his  bed, 
cut  a  slice  from  the  tin  loaf  and  bitten  into  it,  when 
there  came  a  grating  sound,  and  the  slab  rose  out 
of  the  opening  by  which  he  had  entered  the  cellar. 
Looking  up  he  saw  the  benevolent  face  of  Andrew 
Rawnsley  bent  over  the  opening. 

"Good  morning,  Inspector,"  he  said,  in  his  deep, 
rich  voice.  "Are  you  getting  tired  of  your  prison  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am,"  said  the  Inspector,  in  a  tone  which 
he  strove  in  vain  to  render  affable. 

"Ah,  well;  it  shows  you  the  folly  of  interfering 
with  the  wrong  man.  You  may  think  yourself 
lucky  that  I  was  about  when  you  discovered  the 
Marquess.  If  I  hadn't  been,  you'd  be  in  your  grave, 
not  in  a  prison.  My  brother — I  expect  you  gath- 
ered from  our  likeness  that  he  is  my  brother — is  not 
a  man  to  stick  at  trifles;  and  the  wonder  is  that 
your  body  isn't  floating  about  the  Thames  near 
Gravesend." 

"That's  all  very  well,  but  you  can't  get  rid  of 
one  of  us  as  easily  as  all  that.  It's  not  like  a  private 


THE  HOUSE  O.V  THE  MALL    273 

person.    All  the  Force  is  looking  for  me  now,"  said 
the  Inspector. 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley. 
"My  brother  could  have  got  rid  of  you  with  perfect 
ease  and  absolute  safety,  and  so  can  I.  You  see  in 
humbugging  my  parlor-maid — an  obviously  honest 
girl — you  have  hidden  your  own  tracks  perfectly. 
Two  of  your  colleagues  have  been  inquiring  here  for 
you;  and  they  know  that  you  came  to  the  house, 
stayed  a  minute  or  two  in  the  hall,  and  went  out  of 
it  again.  My  parlor-maid  is  quite  convinced  of  this ; 
and  your  colleagues  believe  her  absolute 
S  -ly  fools !"  growled  Inspector  Giffen. 

"Quite  so ;  but  what  I  came  to  say  to  you  is,  that 
you'll  stay  here  till  my  brother  has  got  safely  away 
to  his  home.  I  don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  you 
particularly:  and  I've  no  doubt  that  we  can  come 
to  an  arrangement,  you  and  I,  quietly  between  our- 
selves, that  I  am  to  have  no  further  trouble  in  the 
matter." 

"You  think  you're  going  to  scrag  me  and  lock 
me  up  here  on  bread  and  water  and  not  pay  for  it  f 
cried  the  detective,  angrily. 

"Yes  I  do."  said  Andrew  Rawnsley,  coolly.  "The 
longer  you  stay  here  the  more  clearly  you'll  see 
the  advantage  of  that  arrangement.  I  may  tell  you 
that  I  have  a  perfect  alibi  for  every  moment  I  spend 
with  you.  including  the  time  I  spent  with  my  brother 
bringing  you  here.  But  if  you  won't  see  reason, 


274    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

I'm  very  much  afraid  that  eventually  your  body  will 
be  found,  in  a  very  emaciated  state,  floating  in  the 
Thames  near  Gravesend.  Bread  and  water  isn't 
much  of  a  diet,  but  it's  better  than  nothing  at  all, 
as  you'll  find  out  if  you're  obstinate.  You'll  learn 
that  we're  a  family  who  don't  bear  meddling  with. 
You  think  it  over  carefully."  He  ended  in  tones  of 
quiet  but  very  dangerous  menace;  and  on  the  last 
words  closed  the  opening. 

Inspector  Giffen  ate  his  breakfast  very  gloomily; 
and  as  he  ate  it,  he  did  consider  the  matter  care- 
fully. He  was  much  annoyed  to  hear  that  his  col- 
leagues had  inquired  for  him  at  the  House  on  the 
Mall  and  gone  away  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  Annie's 
story.  The  very  simplicity  of  the  device  which  had 
given  him  undisturbed  access  to  the  house  had,  as 
Andrew  Rawnsley  said,  hidden  his  tracks  complete- 
ly. The  more  he  considered  the  matter  the  more 
awkward  it  grew. 

He  remembered  the  way  in  which  his  pallid 
young  superior  had  received  his  story  that  Andrew 
Rawnsley  was  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale. 
Now  he  had  to  go  to  him  with  a  story  of  having 
discovered  yet  another  Marquess  of  Drysdale  in  the 
same  house  with  Andrew  Rawnsley.  He  had  to 
tell  and  convince  him  of  the  truth  of  the  extraor- 
dinary story  of  how  he  had  been  kidnapped  and  im- 
prisoned underground.  He  had  to  find  the  entrance 
to  that  prison,  or  rather  to  the  underground  passage 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    275 

leading  to  it.  He  could  not  see  his  superiors  having 
the  garden  of  the  Mall  dug  up  to  find  that  passage. 
He  doubted  that  they  would  believe  enough  of  his 
story  to  take  any  steps  in  the  matter  at  all.  The 
most  they  would  do  would  be  to  set  inquiries  on  foot 
about  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale ;  and  seeing  that  his 
nephew  was  Under-Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign 
Affairs,  he  did  not  think  that  those  inquiries  would 
be  prosecuted  with  any  great  vigor.  He  believed 
Andrew  Rawnsley's  assurance  that  he  would  have 
an  alibi  for  every  moment  he  spent  with  him.  There 
would  be  no  touching  a  man  of  his  unblemished 
reputation,  of  his  weight  and  influence  in  the  dis- 
trict. He  could  not  even  be  troubled  without  the 
strongest  evidence.  All  the  evidence  he  himself  had 
got  was  his  bare  word.  Of  course  there  was  the 
statue  of  the  stolen  Hebe.  But  where  was  that 
now  ?  Assuredly  not  in  the  House  on  the  Mall.  He 
began  to  see  quite  clearly  that  he  had  nothing  to 
gain  except  bread  and  water  in  a  cement  cell,  with 
a  prospect  of  ultimate  starvation,  by  not  making 
terms  with  Andrew  Rawnsley,  and  ceasing  to  bother 
himself  about  the  sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale. 

For  his  part  Andrew  Rawnsley  was  going  about 
the  world  beaming  with  even  greater  benevolence 
than  usual.  He  made  several  jokes  to  the  heads  of 
his  departments  about  their  reports  and  showed 
some  surprise  to  hear  that  Montague  Burge  had 
not  returned.  They  agreed  with  him  that  the  man- 


276    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

ager  of  the  Jewelry  Department  could  not  possibly 
have  read  in  the  papers  of  the  burning  of  his  house, 
or  he  would  have  returned  at  once.  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley  said  that  it  was  probably  owing  to  the  fact  that 
he  had  gone  abroad  to  buy  precious  stones.  He 
knew  that  he  had  left  London  on  that  errand,  he 
said,  but  he  had  been  under  the  impression  that  he 
was  going  to  the  Brazilian  diamond  firms  in  Liver- 
pool. Plainly  he  must  have  gone  abroad;  had  he 
been  in  England  he  would  have  been  bound  to  have 
learned  of  the  burning  of  his  house.  The  heads  of 
his  departments  agreed  with  him. 

Andrew  Rawnsley's  cheerfulness  lasted  through 
the  morning.  He  made  more  jokes  as  he  dictated 
the  answers  to  his  letters  to  Nancy.  When  he  came 
back  to  his  house  to  lunch  he  leaned  out  of  the 
library  window  and  made  sure  that  the  humming 
still  continued.  He  did  not  go  and  look  through 
his  peephole  into  the  cellar.  He  had  rather  lost  in- 
terest in  the  matter;  it  was  enough  that  his  ven- 
geance was  being  accomplished. 

That  night  he  made  an  excellent  dinner.  After 
it  he  read  "Marie  Claire"  and  the  last  volume  of 
"Jean  Christophe"  with  leisurely  appreciation,  hard- 
ly skipping  a  page.  He  smoked  several  cigars  and 
drank  three  whiskies  and  sodas.  At  a  quarter  to 
two  in  the  morning  he  rose  from  his  armchair, 
stretched  himself  and  yawned.  He  went  out  into  the 
hall  and  called  up  the  speaking-tube  to  Pettigrew. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL  277 

Presently  Pettigrew  came  down  the  stairs  with  his 
eyes  very  bright  as  if  he  had  just  been  awakened 
from  a  pleasant  sleep.  They  went  down  into  the 
basement  and  along  the  passages  to  the  door  of  the 
circular  cellar.  Andrew  Rawnsley  stooped  down 
and  pressed  the  head  of  a  broad  nail  in  the  bottom 
of  the  door-post,  then  he  leaned  against  the  wall, 
waiting.  In  a  couple  of  minutes  the  hum  of  the 
spinning  floor  had  grown  fainter;  in  another  six 
minutes  it  had  hushed  altogether. 

Andrew  Rawnsley  opened  the  door  and  looked 
in.  The  floor  was  still.  He  entered  the  cellar  and 
stepping  gingerly  over  the  murderer's  body,  went 
to  the  panel  which  hid  the  switches.  He  pressed  the 
spring  and  when  it  opened,  pressed  up  the  top 
switch.  The  sheet  of  steel  which  covered  the  open- 
ing in  the  floor  glided  slowly  back.  He  pressed 
down  the  bottom  switch  and  the  opening  moved 
round  to  the  head  of  the  steps.  Pettigrew  went 
down  them  and  brought  the  ambulance  to  the  foot 
of  them.  They  carried  Billson's  body  down  the  steps, 
laid  it  on  the  ambulance,  and  wheeled  it  along  the 
passage  which  ran  back  under  the  house.  The  am- 
bulance moved  easily  because  the  floor  of  the  pas- 
sage sloped  gently  downwards.  They  had  gone 
some  two  hundred  feet  before  they  came  to  the  end 
of  it ;  and  for  the  last  thirty  or  forty  feet  they  moved 
through  the  sound  of  rushing  water ;  the  tide  of  the 
Thames  was  ebbing  swiftly  above  their  heads.  The 


passage  widened  at  its  end  into  a  little  chamber 
about  ten  feet  long  and  seven  feet  broad.  The  end 
of  it  was  closed  by  a  steel  door.  They  lifted  the 
murderer's  body  off  the  ambulance  and  set  it  against 
that  door. 

"He  won't  murder  any  more  young  fellows," 
said  Pettigrew,  in  a  tone  of  quiet  satisfaction. 

"He  won't,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley,  gazing 
down  at  the  sprawling  figure.  "But  it's  odd  that  the 
floor  should  have  killed  a  big  man  like  that  so 
quickly.  Wilkins  lasted  thirty-six  hours  on  it  and 
Mr.  Apsley-Craig  thirty-nine." 

"Perhaps  it  was  the  drink,  my  lord,"  suggested 
Pettigrew,  in  a  respectful  tone. 

"I  dare  say,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley,  carelessly ; 
and  then  he  added  more  thoughtfully :  "It's  a  great 
nuisance  that  these  people  will  be  so  treacherous." 

He  turned  on  his  heel ;  and  they  came  back  along 
the  passage  till  they  were  under  the  house  again. 
Another  passage  branched  off  from  the  one  they 
were  in  and  ran  under  the  left  wing.  Just  beyond 
its  opening  Andrew  Rawnsley  pressed  hard  against 
a  brick  in  the  right-hand  wall,  and  a  steel  door 
sank  slowly  down  in  grooves  from  the  roof  of  the 
passage  they  were  in,  closing  it  behind  them.  Now, 
anyone  coming  into  the  branch  passage  under  the 
left  wing  would  only  find  open  the  passage  which 
ran  under  the  river  to  the  steel  door  against  which 
lay  the  body  of  Billson. 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    279 

"Now,  I  think  that  everything's  ready  for  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell,"  said  Andrew  Rawnsley,  grimly; 
and  they  came  out  of  the  passage  and  went  up  the 
stairs  of  the  circular  cellar. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

MR-  SHORE-WARDELL  GOES  DOWN  THE  THAMES 

MR.  SHORE-WARDELL  had  been  dining 
with  Paul  Mauleverer,  and  plainly  din- 
ing well.  His  face  was  flushed  and  his 
shallow  blue  eyes  were  shining  brightly.  He  was 
leaning  forward  over  the  table,  supported  by 
his  arms  (not  that  he  yet  needed  their  sup- 
port, but  after  dinner  it  was  his  favorite  atti- 
tude), and  as  he  stirred  his  coffee  he  smiled  at  his 
host  like  a  large  beaming  baby.  Paul  Mauleverer 
was  smiling,  too,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  tilted 
chair.  Pettigrew  put  down  a  box  of  cigars  at  Mr. 
Shore-Wardell's  left  hand. 

On  the  instant  Paul  Mauleverer  tilted  his  chair 
an  inch  to  far  and  went  over  backward  on  the 
floor  with  a  crash.  Even  as  he  fell  Pettigrew  raised 
the  hem  of  the  startled  guest's  dinner-jacket,  and 
deftly  drew  from  his  hip  pocket  the  revolver,  with- 
out which  he  never  went  to  the  House  on  the  Mall. 

Paul  Mauleverer  swore  a  little  and  picked  him- 
self up,  laughing.  As  he  sat  down  again  he  said, 
"Well,  if  that's  not  a  silly  thing  to  do!" 

280 


THE  HOUSE  ON  run  MALL   281 

"Yes;  for  goodness  sake,  don't  do  it  again!  It 
jars  my  nerves,"  said  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  a  little 
pettishly. 

Pettigrew  lighted  their  cigars  and  left  the 
room. 

"What's  this  about  the  disappearance  of  Burge? 
I  read  that  his  house  was  burned,  and  now  I  read 
that  he  has  disappeared  himself,"  said  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell. 

"Burge  has  disappeared  for  good.  He  was  found 
to  be  plotting  treachery,"  said  Paul  Mauleverer  in 
his  harshest  and  most  rasping  tones. 

Mr.  Shore-Wardell  felt  a  little  thrill  of  discom- 
fort. He  was  conscious  of  having  plotted  treach- 
ery himself.  It  had  not  been  discovered,  could  not 
be  discovered;  but  there  it  was.  Almost  involun- 
tarily his  hand  stole  round  to  feel  the  comforting 
butt  of  his  revolver.  He  did  not  feel  it.  He  felt 
an  empty  pocket,  and  the  flush  in  his  face  grew 
several  shades  lighter. 

He  looked  at  Mauleverer  earnestly,  and  Maule- 
verer looked  at  him.  There  was  a  gleam  of  mock- 
ing menace  in  his  fine  brown  eyes.  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  felt  his  mouth  growing  dry.  The  room 
seemed  suddenly  chilly. 

"By  the  way,  I  don't  think  you  ever  knew  that 
my  other  name  was  Rawnsley — Andrew  Rawns- 
ley,"  said  Mauleverer  very  slowly. 

There  came  a  short,  gasping  sigh  from  Mr.  Shore- 


282    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

Wardell  and  he  said  faintly,  "No.  I  can't  say  that 
I  ever  did." 

"Yes;  Andrew  Rawnsley.  I'm  the  father  of  the 
boy  you  and  that  blackguard  Billson  murdered  on 
the  Mall,"  rasped  out  Paul  Mauleverer,  and  there 
was  a  flame  in  his  eye. 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell  rose  stiffly  to  his  feet.  His 
forehead  was  suddenly  shining.  He  said,  "I — I 
don't  know  what  you're  talking  about." 

Paul  Mauleverer  laughed,  a  harsh,  scornful 
laugh. 

"Liar,"  he  said. 

"It  wasn't  a  murder.  It  was  an  accident — pure 
accident,"  cried  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  in  his  high, 
squeaky  voice.  "Billson  never  meant  to  harm  the 
boy  at  all.  Only  to  get  the  notes  off  him.  It  was 
that  blundering  fool's  fault  entirely.  He  made  a 
mistake.  It  was  an  accident." 

"You  let  that  blackguard  loose  on  the  boy,  with  a 
life-preserver,  and  call  it  an  accident,"  cried  Paul 
Mauleverer  in  a  terrible  voice.  "Well,  for  that  ac- 
cident I'm  going  to  cut  your  throat  from  ear  to 
ear!" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  in  his  hand  there 
gleamed  a  long,  cruel-looking  knife. 

Mr.  Shore-Wardell  uttered  a  gasping  howl  and 
dashed  to  the  door.  He  thought  to  find  it  locked, 
but  it  opened.  He  bounced  through  it,  slammed  it 
behind  him,  and  rushed  down  the  corridor.  The 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    283 

iron  gate  at  its  entrance  was  closed  and  locked. 
He  turned  to  see  Paul  Mauleverer  coming  out 
of  the  dining  room,  the  knife  gleaming  in  his 
hand. 

Mr.  Shore- Wardell  dashed  for  the  nearest  door- 
way, and  found  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  flight  of 
stairs  leading  upward.  He  tore  up  them  to  find 
that  they  ended  in  a  trapdoor.  He  thrust  at  it,  and 
it  rose.  He  scrambled  through  it,  found  himself  on 
the  roof,  slammed  down  the  trapdoor  and  threw 
himself  down  on  it,  bruising  his  little  finger  against 
a  key  sticking  up  out  of  it.  He  snatched  at  it,  it 
turned  to  his  pressure  and  locked  down  the  trap- 
door. 

He  uttered  a  great  sob  of  relief,  and  mopped  the 
sweat  from  his  brow.  Then  he  looked  about  him. 
The  bright  moon  showed  him  that  he  was  on  a 
flat,  parapctted  roof.  He  sat,  shaking  and  panting, 
trying  to  think  what  to  do,  listening  for  steps  on 
the  stairs  under  him.  Should  he  go  to  the  parapet 
and  shout  for  help  ?  Plainly  it  was  the  thing  to  do ; 
but  he  could  not  bring  himself  yet  to  leave  the  trap- 
door. He  listened  for  Mauleverer's  attempt  to  force 
it. 

On  a  sudden,  as  he  sat  hesitating,  he  heard  a 
grating  noise  on  the  further  side  of  the  block  of 
chimneys  on  his  right  hand.  Then  above  the  chim- 
neys appeared  a  white  face,  rising.  He  gasped  and 
stared.  The  face,  shoulders,  and  bust  of  a  woman 


"HE  HOUSE  OX  THE  MALL 
rose  above  the  <Jiimm.js  and  were.  sHTI.    It  was  the 


In  a  flash  Mr.  Shore-Warden  understood.  The 
statue  rose  or  sank  on  a  kind  of  lift.  Mauleverer 
had  come  up  in  the  compartment  under  the  Hebe, 
behind  the  chiinneyv.  Mr.  Shore-Wardell 
to  his  feet  and  ran  down  the  roof  veiling 
for  help.  He  came  to  a  block  of  chimneys,  and  as 
be  slipped  behind  them  looked  back  to  see  Maule- 
r mining  along  the  roof.  He  kicked  off  his 
and  ran  to  the  next  block  of  chimneys. 
were  five  of  these  blocks  on  the  roof.  He 
stood  behind  k  listming  with  all  his  ears.  Then  he 
:-:!-:  Manfcs  BW*J  Cant,  nauunig  footfall  Aa  Ihey/ 
came  round  the  right  side  of  the  block  he  bolted 
:  ind  flew  to  die  next  From  block 
to  block  he  dodged  his  pursuer,  rushing,  sweating. 
•anting:  Always  his  terrified  eves  cast  about  for 
a  weapon.  Then  he  came  round  the  block  behind 
bad  risen  die  stolen  statue.  It  was  six  feet 
bun  in  die  air,  set  on  die  top  of  a  pillar. 
round  it,  he  found  that  k  was  not  a  pillar 
but  a  tubeT  and  open  on  that  side.  He  thrust  bis 
hand  into  it  and  felt  the  rope  of  the  lift  He 
itTfpf*^  motif-  die  tube,  jeiked  die  rope  hard,  and 
the  Eft  went  down.  As  die  top  of  die  opening 
the  roof  he  heard  Manlcucicr  laugh. 


The  Kft  went  down  and  down.     Thirty   feet 
5  he  judged,  be  tried  to  check  it  but  it  sank 


THE  HOUSE  OX  THE  MALL     285 

and  sank.  At  last  it  stopped  with  a  little  jar.  He 
stepped  oat  of  it  on  to  a  cold  stone  floor,  m  nffrr 
jfrarL-TM»<gs  He  groped  about  ban  and  found  tint  he 

was  in  a  narrow  passage.    Then  he  heard  the  H  ft 
behind  him  begm  to  rise. 
He  hnmed  down  the 


the  walls.  It  turned  •Viijilj  to  the  left,  aad  he 
pressed  OB,  his  left  band  against  the  wafl  gmdng 
him,  bis  iigbi  outstretched  in  front  of  him.  Then 
he  heard  a  rushing  sound  jbutc.  bis  bead,  it  was 
rushing  water,  he  must  be  under  the  Thames.  Ten 
seconds  later  he  trod  on  a  loose  brick  vbicb  gave 
raider  bis  foot,  and  on  the  instant  there  was  a  load 
ciifif  behind  liinri-  Two  more  M*i*s  and  BIS  ngnt 
band  sjrwfc  against  a  door,  closing'  the  passage,  htg 
left  foot  strack  against  sooiething  sort.  He  stopped 
and  ran  his  hand  over  the  surface  of  die  door,  it 
'dosed  the  fir  tgi.  from  wall  to  walL  He  stooped 
down,  and  his  hand  touched  a  ••MI'S  face — it  was 
very  cofcL 

He  stepped  back,  tore  his  match-box  oat  of  bis 
pocket,  struck  a  match  and  looked  down  on  the 
dead  face  of  Crinkly  Bfflson. 

He  uttered  a  whining  howl,  and  turned  to  a 
sound  at  his  back.  A  steel  door  was  sinking  from 
the  roof  and  closing  the  passage  behind  him.  He 
made  a  step  toward  k.  it  was  too  late — it  bad  al- 
ready sank  to  within  a  foot  of  the  floor.  He  «akbul 
it  with  staring  eyes  tffl  it  touched  the  floor.  As 


286     THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

it  touched  it  the  dead  body  of  the  pugilist  jerked 
forward  from  against  the  other  door,  and  a  sheet 
of  water  seemed  to  spurt  from  the  floor.  It  drove 
with  terrific  force  right  across  his  prison,  drenching 
his  legs.  It  thickened.  He  stared  at  it,  uncompre- 
hending. Then  he  understood — the  door  into  the 
Thames  was  rising,  rising  very  slowly.  His  prison 
would  be  full  to  the  roof  three  or  four  minutes  be- 
fore the  door  had  risen  two  feet. 
Mr.  Shore-Wardell  began  to  scream. 


CHAPTER    XXX 

COLONEL    WEBLING    ACTS    PRECIPITATELY 

PAUL  MAULEVERER  watched  the  stolen 
Hebe  sink  out  of  sight  with  a  grim 
smile  on  his  face.  Then  he  went  to 
the  trap-door,  opened  it,  and  called  down  to 
Pettigrew  to  bring  him  up  some  cigars  and  his 
field-glasses.  When  they  came,  he  lighted  a  cigar, 
took  the  field-glasses,  went  to  the  parapet,  sat  down 
on  it  and  smoked  quietly,  gazing  down  on  the  moon- 
lit Thames.  Two  or  three  times  he  looked  at  his 
watch.  At  the  expiration  of  eight  minutes  he  put 
the  glasses  to  his  eyes  and  stared  down  through 
them  at  a  spot  about  thirty  feet  from  the  shore.  A 
little  more  than  two  minutes  later  a  dark  mass  rose 
to  the  surface.  He  saw  whirling  limbs  and  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  white  face.  The  dark  mass  sank 
slowly  under  the  water  as  it  was  swept  downstream. 
Paul  Mauleverer  laughed  his  grim  laugh. 

He  shut  up  the  glasses  and  went  down  the  stairs, 
closing  the  trapdoor  behind  him.  In  the  corridor 
he  found  Annie  with  an  express  letter  in  her  hand. 
He  opened  it  and  read : 

287 


288     THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

DEAR  MAULEVERER  : 

I  got  a  badly  wrenched  ankle  in  the  course  of  that 
little  job,  so  have  only  just  got  back  to  town.  I 
wish  you  would  come  round  and  see  me.  I  think 
you  would  be  interested  to  hear  about  it.  You  may 
as  well  come  round  to-night,  and  I'll  tell  you  about 
it  while  it  is  fresh  in  my  mind. 

Yours  sincerely, 

CLAUDE  WEBLING. 

Paul  Mauleverer  looked  at  the  letter,  frowning 
and  very  thoughtful.  Then  he  told  Pettigrew  to  tele- 
phone to  the  garage  for  his  motor  car.  Then  he 
went  into  his  bedroom,  put  on  a  light  overcoat  and 
took  from  a  drawer  a  small  double-barreled  Der- 
inger  pistol.  He  put  it  into  the  right-hand  pocket 
of  his  overcoat. 

Fatimah  opened  the  door  of  the  Colonel's  flat 
and  greeted  him  with  her  usual  scowl.  Paul  Maule- 
verer paid  no  heed  to  it — he  had  seen  it  so  often. 
But  he  came  through  the  door  of  Colonel  Webling's 
sitting  room  with  both  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
overcoat. 

Colonel  Webling  lay  stretched  on  a  divan,  wear- 
ing only  one  slipper.  His  left  foot  Was  bandaged. 

"How  are  you?  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you've  had 
an  accident.  I  hope  it  isn't  much,"  said  Paul  Maule- 
verer in  cheery  tones,  but  his  keen  eyes  scanned 
Colonel  Webling's  face  closely. 

Colonel  Webling  looked  very  much  as  usual,  a 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    289 

sleepy  vulture.  Perhaps  his  face  was  a  little  paler 
than  its  wont;  but  in  a  man  with  a  wrenched  ankle 
that  was  natural. 

"How  are  you,  Mauleverer?"  he  said  in  his  slow 
deep  voice,  taking  the  mouthpiece  of  his  narghileh 
from  his  lips.  "My  ankle's  nothing — a  bad  wrench. 
A  few  days'  rest  will  put  it  right." 

"Good,"  said  Paul  Mauleverer,  and  he  took  off 
his  hat  and  crossed  the  room  to  a  divan  facing  that 
on  which  the  Colonel  lay. 

"Half  a  moment,"  said  Colonel  Webling  slowly. 
"I've  got  something  to  show  you.  Over  there — on 
the  table  by  the  window — under  that  cloth." 

Paul  Mauleverer  turned  to  the  table  and  saw  a 
large  square  of  colored  silk  covering  some  object 
about  eight  inches  high.  He  went  to  the  table, 
raised  the  cloth  a  little,  let  it  fall  from  his  fingers, 
jerked  it  sharply  aside,  and  stared  down  at  the  sev- 
ered head  of  Zoraida  Webling. 

He  did  not  turn.  His  hands  sank  down  into  his 
overcoat  pockets,  then  he  did  not  stir,  he  gazed 
down  at  the  dead  face. 

"Dear — dear — dear — what  a  pity !  Such  a  pretty 
creature!"  he  said  in  a  low,  soft  tone,  very  unlike 
his  usual  rasping  accents.  Then  he  cried:  "You 
stupid,  jealous  fool!  There  was  no  reason!" 

On  the  last  word  he  turned  sharply,  and  as  he 
turned  he  fired  from  his  pocket. 

Colonel  Webling's  revolver  cracked  at  the  same 


29Q     THE  PIOUS H  ON  THE  MALL 

instant.  Paul  Mauleverer  fell  heavily  forward  on 
to  his  face.  Colonel  Webling  writhed  two  or  three 
times  and  lay  still,  staring  at  the  fallen  man.  The 
door  flew  open,  and  the  affrighted  Fatimah  stood 
on  the  threshold,  peering  through  the  smoke  at  the 
evil  her  vicious  tongue  had  wrought. 

Paul  Mauleverer  raised  himself  a  little  from  the 
floor,  gazed  at  the  glazing  eyes  of  Colonel  Webling, 
and  said  faintly,  with  a  shadow  of  a  smile  on  his 
white  face,  "It  was  the  emeralds — the  Aldington 
Emeralds — those  green  stones  bring  bad  luck." 

He  sank  down  again  on  to  his  face  and  was  still. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

INSPECTOR    GIFFEN    LEAVES    THE    HOUSE    ON    THE 
MALL 

AT  half -past  nine  the  next  morning  the  Mar- 
quess of  Drysdale  knocked  at  the  door  of 
the  House  on  the  Mall.  Pettigrew,  pale 
and  scared,  opened  it,  his  eyes  were  red  as  if  he 
had  been  weeping  for  his  dead  master. 

"This  is  a  shocking  business,  and  I  thought  I'd 
better  come  at  once  in  case  there  was  anything  I 
ought  to  do,"  said  the  Marquess,  as  he  walked 
quickly  into  the  dining  room. 

"I've  got  instructions  about  most  things,  your 
lordship,"  said  Pettigrew.  "But  there's  a  gentle- 
man— a  detective  gentleman — in  the  prison  cell. 
He's  been  there  a  good  many  days." 

"The  prison  cell  ?  And  where's  the  prison  cell  ?" 
said  the  astonished  Marquess. 

"It's  toward  the  end  of  the  underground  passage 
to  the  power-house,  under  the  Wellingtonias,"  said 
Pettigrew.  "He  doesn't  know  as  I  had  anything 
to  do  with  his  being  there — only  his  lordship." 

"A  detective  in  a  prison  cell  under  the  Welling- 
291 


292    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

tonias!  This  is  very  cheering,"  said  the  Marquess 
gloomily.  "We'd  better  let  him  out.  I  suppose  he 
knew  my  uncle?" 

"Yes,  your  lordship;  that's  what  he  got  in  the 
prison  cell  for,"  said  Pettigrew.  "But  as  to  getting 
him  out,  I've  had  instructions  how  to  do  that  with- 
out his  finding  out  anything  about  the  underground 
passages,  only  I  didn't  like  to  do  it  before  you 
came.  I  thought  your  lordship  might  like  to  speak 
to  him  before  he  goes." 

"I  should.  You'd  better  get  him  out  and  bring 
him  here  at  once,"  said  the  Marquess,  and  he  sat 
down  in  an  easy  chair  and  took  out  his  cigarette 
case. 

Inspector  Giffen,  waiting  impatiently  for  his 
breakfast,  was  surprised  to  hear  a  noise  in  the  ceil- 
ing which  assured  him  that  the  slab  was  being 
raised.  But  when  it  had  been  raised  he  could  see 
nothing,  for  the  passage  above  was  pitch  dark. 

Then  a  gruff  voice,  which  he  did  not  recognize, 
said:  "I'm  going  to  let  down  a  ladder  for  you  to 
come  up  by.  But  when  I  say  'Stop!'  you  stand  still 
on  it  till  I've  blindfolded  you.  Try  any  tricks,  and 
you'll  get  a  knife  jammed  into  your  ribs." 

Inspector  Giffen's  heart  leaped  in  him:  "No 
fear!"  he  said  shakily.  "All  I  want  is  to  get  out. 
I'll  come  as  quiet  as  a  lamb." 

"You'd  better,"  said  the  gruff  voice  earnestly. 

A  ladder  came  from  down  the  opening.     The 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    293 

inspector  climbed  it  with  surprisingly  shaky  legs, 
but  his  heart  beat  high.  When,  as  his  head  rose 
above  the  passage  floor,  the  voice  said  "Stop!"  he 
stopped  dead  till  he  had  been  blindfolded.  His  ill- 
fed  captivity  had  lowered  his  fine  spirit.  He  only 
wished  to  be  free.  Then  his  gaoler  took  hold  of  the 
collar  of  his  coat,  drew  him  up  the  rest  of  the  lad- 
der, and  marched  him  along  the  passage.  Inspector 
Giffen  moved  like  a  quiet  lamb,  though  in  his  joy 
at  being  out  of  the  cell  he  could  well  have  gam- 
boled. They  went  up  the  flight  of  steps  into  the 
circular  cellar,  and  Inspector  Giffen  sniffed  the 
fresh  air  with  heartfelt  joy.  There  had  been  many 
moments  in  his  cell  when  he  had  looked  never  to 
breathe  fresh  air  again.  His  gaoler  marched  him 
through  the  cellar,  along  the  passages,  to  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  leading  up  to  the  hall.  There  he 
halted  him,  saying,  "Stand  still."  Then  he  went 
back  down  the  passage  into  the  darkness,  and  called, 
"Take  off  that  bandage,  and  go  up  to  the  dining 
room." 

Inspector  Giffen  whipped  off  the  bandage,  and, 
oh,  he  was  glad  to  be  dazzled  by  the  light  of  day! 
He  went  up  the  stairs,  opened  the  dining-room  door 
and  confronted  the  Seventh  Marquess  of  Drys- 
dale. 

For  the  Marquess  the  law  had  little  interest  and 
no  terror.  He  surveyed  the  unkempt,  grimy,  stub- 
bly-bearded detective  with  an  air  of  gloomy  dis- 


-294    THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

gust,  then  he  said,  "So  my  uncle  has  been  keeping 
you  in  his  private  prison,  has  he?  It  serves  you 
right  for  bothering  a  man  about  a  bigamy  he  com- 
mitted twenty  years  ago,  when  raking  it  up  can 
do  no  living  soul  any  good  whatever." 

"Bigamy,  my  lord?  It  wasn't  bigamy  I  wanted 
him  for,  it  was  murder,"  said  Inspector  Giffen. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  the  Marquess,  and 
his  acquired  solemnity  kept  his  surprise  and  dismay 
out  of  his  face. 

After  its  enforced  rest  for  so  many  days  the 
tongue  of  Inspector  Giffen  was  glad  to  wag.  He 
poured  out  what  he  knew  of  the  misdoings  of  the 
Sixth  Marquess  of  Drysdale  with  eager  garrulity. 
'The  Marquess  was  astonished  and  shocked.  He 
had  not  known  that  his  uncle  was  alive  till  two  years 
after  his  sham  suicide,  then  he  had  been  told  that  he 
had  disappeared,  in  his  effective  fashion,  to  escape 
a  prosecution  for  bigamy.  They  had  grown 
friendly,  and  he  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  con- 
sulting his  uncle,  for  whose  business  capacity  he 
had  the  greatest  admiration,  about  matters  con- 
nected with  his  estates.  Then  the  inspector  told  of 
the  stolen  Hebe,  and  the  Marquess  began  to  won- 
der what  he  would  learn  next  about  his  versatile 
kinsman.  Already  he  had  got  a  dead  Colonel,  a 
decapitated  lady,  an  imprisoned  detective,  a  mur- 
dered wife,  and  a  stolen  statue.  There  had  been 
depths  in  his  uncle's  nature  of  which  he  had  never 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    295 

dreamed.  He  had  merely  believed  him  to  be  an 
admirable  man  of  business  with  a  weakness  for 
women.  His  uncle's  had  indeed  been  a  full  life — 
he  was  never  to  know  how  full. 

His  imperturbable,  gloomy  face  did  not  reveal 
his  astonishment  and  dismay.  At  the  end  of  the 
inspector's  story  he  said :  "My  uncle's  dead,  so  that, 
supposing  them  to  be  true,  your  discoveries  are  now 
useless.  You  will,  of  course,  have  to  explain  to 
your  superiors  the  reason  of  your  enforced  ab- 
sence; but  I  don't  think  you  will  want  to  talk  at 
large  about  how  you  were  kidnapped  by  two  old 
men.  With  regard  to  the  statue,  I  will  myself  see 
that  it  is  returned  to  its  proper  owner,  and  I  shall 
compensate  you  myself  for  your  unpleasant  im- 
prisonment. I  think  we  might  say  a  hundred 
pounds." 

Inspector  Giffen's  heart  leaped  again  with  joy. 
He  thanked  the  Marquess  warmly,  and  assured  him 
that  since  such  accidents  did  not  redound  to  the 
credit  of  the  detective  force,  he  would  by  no  means 
talk  about  his  imprisonment.  Then  he  bade  the 
Marquess  good  morning  and  withdrew.  He  was 
eager  to  get  back  to  his  little  West  Kensington 
home. 

When  the  front  door  closed  behind  him,  Petti- 
grew  came  to  the  Marquess. 

"Well,  have  you  any  more  of  these  interesting 
surprises  for  me?"  said  the  Marquess  gloomily. 


296    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

"No,  your  lordship;  I  don't  think  there's  any- 
thing else  your  lordship  need  know." 

The  Marquess  appreciated  Pettigrew's  reticence. 

They  went  upstairs  to  Paul  Mauleverer's  rooms. 
Pettigrew  took  a  key  from  his  pocket,  unlocked  a 
drawer  in  a  bureau,  took  out  a  large,  sealed  en- 
velope, on  which  was  written,  "To  be  given  to  the 
Marquess  of  Drysdale  in  the  event  of  my  death  or 
disappearance,"  and  handed  it  to  the  Marquess. 
The  Marquess  opened  it  and  found  that  it  contained 
a  page  of  foolscap  in  his  uncle's  handwriting.  He 
sat  down  in  an  easy  chair  and  read  it. 

It  had  been  written  but  a  few  days  before.  His 
uncle  had  either  been  alive  to  the  dangers  he  ran 
in  avenging  his  son  on  two  dangerous  men  like  the 
pugilist  and  Mr.  Shore- Wardell,  or  he  had  had  a 
premonition  of  impending  misfortune.  The  en- 
velope contained  a  power  of  attorney  enabling  the 
Marquess  to  take  complete  charge  of  Andrew 
Rawnsley's  affairs  in  the  event  of  his  disappearance 
and  act  for  him.  Also  it  contained  a  letter  in- 
forming the  Marquess  that  his  uncle's  will  was  in 
the  hands  of  his  solicitors  and  in  it  he  had  left 
half  of  his  fortune  and  half  of  the  Emporium  to 
Nancy  and  half  to  the  Marquess,  in  the  event  of 
their  not  marrying.  In  the  event  of  their  marrying 
he  had  left  all  his  fortune  and  the  Emporium  to 
Nancy.  The  Marquess  laughed.  He  recognized 
his  uncle's  queer  humor.  In  the  event  of  Nancy 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    297 

not  marrying  the  Marquess  she  was  to  marry  Ru- 
pert Drayton,  because,  said  the  writer,  he  had  a 
great  admiration  for  the  up-to-date,  strenuous 
young  American,  and  had  been  at  the  pains  to  kid- 
nap Rupert  and  break  his  leg  in  order  that  he  and 
Nancy  might  be  properly  thrown  together  and 
have  the  best  possible  opportunity  of  falling  in  love 
with  one  another. 

The  Marquess  blinked,  and  then  he  laughed.  To 
sandbag  a  young  man  and  break  his  leg  in  order 
that  he  and  a  young  woman  might  be  thrown  to- 
gether, seemed  to  him  of  a  thoroughness  almost 
archaic.  It  set  him  pondering  on  his  uncle's  char- 
acter. How  strong  in  it  the  Wentworth  strain  had 
been,  and  by  what  admirable  abilities  had  it  been 
supported !  Had  his  uncle  but  exercised  those  great 
talents  in  the  more  reputable  spheres,  with  what  en- 
thusiasm would  impassioned  biographers  have 
lauded  his  grand  simplicity  and  directness.  But  for 
his  unfortunate  weakness  in  the  matter  of  women, 
he  might  have  served  his  country  well.  As  it  was 
— a  great  proconsul  wasted  on  private  crime. 

He  finished  the  letter  and  betook  himself  to 
Rupert's  bedroom.  He  found  Rupert  gloomy  in- 
deed. He  had  been  reflecting  and  reflecting  on 
Nancy's  words,  and  even  more  on  her  manner. 
The  longer  he  reflected  the  more  deeply  sank  his 
hopes  of  winning  her.  It  grew  clearer  and  clearer 
that  she  had  never  felt  more  than  friendliness  for 


298    THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL 

him,  and  that  it  was  indeed  unlikely  that  she  ever 
would  feel  more  than  friendliness.  He  had  not 
the  key  to  her  English  heart,  always  supposing  that 
that  heart  had  not  already  been  given  to  another. 
He  suspected  very  strongly  that  it  had,  and  that 
that  other  was  the  Marquess.  He  received  him 
gloomily,  and  the  news  of  the  death  of  Andrew 
Rawnsley  made  him  gloomier  still. 

The  Marquess  was  very  civil,  and  sympathetic 
in  his  inquiries  about  the  progress  toward  recovery 
of  Rupert's  broken  leg,  and  having  learned  that  he 
had  everything  he  needed,  he  was  turning  to  go 
when  Rupert  said : 

"I  want  a  word  with  you  about  Miss  Weston." 

The  Marquess  drew  himself  up  stiffly  and  was 
on  the  point  of  saying  that  Nancy  was  no  subject 
of  discussion  for  them,  when  he  remembered  how 
Rupert  had  come  by  his  broken  leg,  and  he  looked 
at  him  solemnly,  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"You've  been  seeing  a  good  deal  of  Miss  Weston 
lately — she  told  me  so,"  said  Rupert  slowly. 

"As  much  as  I  possibly  could,"  said  the  Mar- 
quess. 

"Well,  I  want  to  know  what  you  are  doing," 
said  Rupert.  "I  don't  know  much  about  the  way 
things  go  in  England,  but  I  do  know  that  Mar- 
quesses aren't  in  the  habit  of  seeing  so  much  of 
working  girls — not  for  their  good." 

"There  are  Marquesses  and  Marquesses,"  said 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    299 

the  Marquess  solemnly;  then  he  smiled  and  added, 
"I  suppose  that  technically  you  have  no  right  to  ask 
me  any  such  question.  But  in  these  matters  one  can 
be  too  technical,  and  so  I  will  tell  you  frankly  that 
I  propose  to  ask  Miss  Weston  to  marry  me." 

Rupert  looked  at  him  steadily  and  then  he  said, 
"Thank  you.  I  thought  you  mightn't  be  on  the 
square,  but  you  are." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Marquess  cheerfully,  and  he 
bade  him  good  morning. 

Rupert  gazed  at  the  closed  door  with  the  gloom- 
iest eyes  in  the  world.  He  had  a  strong  feeling 
that  Nancy  would  say  "yes"  to  the  proposal  of 
the  Marquess.  He  felt  very  bitter;  the  luck  had 
indeed  been  against  him.  If  only  he  had  found  her 
before  the  Marquess.  Well,  there  was  always  his 
work;  he  must  get  back  to  Chicago,  to  the  strenu- 
ous life  he  loved,  and  forget  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  MOST  BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN  IN  EUROPE 

ABOUT  the  disappearance  of  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale  preserved  a 
judicious  silence.  Like  the  great  clock- 
work machine  it  was,  in  the  hands  of  the  able 
heads  of  its  departments,  the  Emporium  continued 
to  supply  the  wants  of  its  customers  without  a 
hitch.  Of  late  years  its  proprietor  had  performed 
merely  a  consultative  function,  and  he  had  so  pro- 
vided against  his  disappearance  that  the  Marquess 
saw  his  way  to  turning  it  into  a  liability  limited 
company  without  informing  the  world  that  he  was 
dead. 

The  papers  were  doing  full  justice  to  the 
tragedy  in  Colonel  Webling's  flat;  and  the  interest 
in  it  was  heightened  by  the  disappearance  of  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell  immediately  after  dining  with  Paul 
Mauleverer  on  the  night  he  was  shot.  There  were 
but  a  few  paragraphs  about  the  disappearance  of 
Crinkly  Billson,  but  Mrs.  Billson,  the  evening  after 
his  death,  received  a  package  by  hand  which  con- 
tained three  hundred  pounds  in  gold.  The  Sixth 

300 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    301 

Marquess  of  Drysdale  had  seen  to  it  that  she  did 
not  suffer  by  the  loss  of  her  husband. 

His  body  and  that  of  Mr.  Shore- Wardell  were 
picked  up  within  half  a  mile  of  one  another  in  the 
lower  reaches  of  the  Thames  ten  days  later.  No 
one  connected  them  with  one  another.  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  had  died  by  drowning,  the  autopsy  showed 
that  Crinkly  Billson  had  died  of  some  very  curious 
form  of  congestion  of  the  brain.  His  brain,  in- 
deed, is  preserved  in  spirits,  for  the  instruction  of 
students,  in  the  Museum  of  the  Middlesex  Hospital. 

On  the  two  days  after  the  death  of  Andrew 
Rawnsley  Nancy  sat  in  his  empty  office  waiting  for 
him  to  come  to  dictate  answers  to  the  growing  pile 
of  letters  on  his  desk.  She  spent  the  idle  hours 
reading,  or,  rather,  trying  to  read.  Most  of  the 
time  she  thought  about  the  Marquess.  She  had 
not  seen  him  for  four  days.  He  seemed  to  have 
vanished  from  her  life. 

She  wondered  about  it  with  a  growing  anxiety 
which  she  could  not  quite  understand.  It  was  far 
too  acute  an  anxiety  to  feel  about  a  friend  of  six 
weeks'  standing.  She  thought  it  most  likely  that  he 
had  realized  how  wrongly  he  had  behaved  in  the 
matter  of  that  attempted  kiss,  and  had  removed 
himself  from  further  temptation.  She  perceived 
clearly  that  he  was  doing  the  right  thing;  she  ap- 
plauded the  action.  But  her  heart  sank.  She  was 
beginning  to  feel  that  his  withdrawal  had  left  a 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  MOST  BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN  IN  EUROPE 

ABOUT  the  disappearance  of  Andrew  Rawns- 
ley  the  Marquess  of  Drysdale  preserved  a 
judicious  silence.  Like  the  great  clock- 
work machine  it  was,  in  the  hands  of  the  able 
heads  of  its  departments,  the  Emporium  continued 
to  supply  the  wants  of  its  customers  without  a 
hitch.  Of  late  years  its  proprietor  had  performed 
merely  a  consultative  function,  and  he  had  so  pro- 
vided against  his  disappearance  that  the  Marquess 
saw  his  way  to  turning  it  into  a  liability  limited 
company  without  informing  the  world  that  he  was 
dead. 

The  papers  were  doing  full  justice  to  the 
tragedy  in  Colonel  Webling's  flat;  and  the  interest 
in  it  was  heightened  by  the  disappearance  of  Mr. 
Shore- Wardell  immediately  after  dining  with  Paul 
Mauleverer  on  the  night  he  was  shot.  There  were 
but  a  few  paragraphs  about  the  disappearance  of 
Crinkly  Billson,  but  Mrs.  Billson,  the  evening  after 
his  death,  received  a  package  by  hand  which  con- 
tained three  hundred  pounds  in  gold.  The  Sixth 

300 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    301 

Marquess  of  Drysdale  had  seen  to  it  that  she  did 
not  suffer  by  the  loss  of  her  husband. 

His  body  and  that  of  Mr.  Shore-Wardell  were 
picked  up  within  half  a  mile  of  one  another  in  the 
lower  reaches  of  the  Thames  ten  days  later.  No 
one  connected  them  with  one  another.  Mr.  Shore- 
Wardell  had  died  by  drowning,  the  autopsy  showed 
that  Crinkly  Billson  had  died  of  some  very  curious 
form  of  congestion  of  the  brain.  His  brain,  in- 
deed, is  preserved  in  spirits,  for  the  instruction  of 
students,  in  the  Museum  of  the  Middlesex  Hospital. 

On  the  two  days  after  the  death  of  Andrew 
Rawnsley  Nancy  sat  in  his  empty  office  waiting  for 
him  to  come  to  dictate  answers  to  the  growing  pile 
of  letters  on  his  desk.  She  spent  the  idle  hours 
reading,  or,  rather,  trying  to  read.  Most  of  the 
time  she  thought  about  the  Marquess.  She  had 
not  seen  him  for  four  days.  He  seemed  to  have 
vanished  from  her  life. 

She  wondered  about  it  with  a  growing  anxiety 
which  she  could  not  quite  understand.  It  was  far 
too  acute  an  anxiety  to  feel  about  a  friend  of  six 
weeks'  standing.  She  thought  it  most  likely  that  he 
had  realized  how  wrongly  he  had  behaved  in  the 
matter  of  that  attempted  kiss,  and  had  removed 
himself  from  further  temptation.  She  perceived 
clearly  that  he  was  doing  the  right  thing;  she  ap- 
plauded the  action.  But  her  heart  sank.  She  was 
beginning  to  feel  that  his  withdrawal  had  left  a 


3Q2    THE  HOUSB  ON  THE  MALL 

dreadful  gap  in  her  life.  At  times  she  was  so  un- 
happy that  she  found  herself  wishing  that  he  had 
not  removed  himself  from  temptation  with  such 
firmness.  The  wish  shocked  her. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  Annie  brought 
word  that  she  was  to  have  her  typewriter  carried 
from  the  Emporium  to  the  library  of  the  House  on 
the  Mall,  and  work  there.  It  was  set  on  a  table 
before  the  window,  and  she  sat  down  in  front  of 
it,  waiting  for  Mr.  Rawnsley.  She  sat  gazing  out 
into  the  garden,  and  presently  fell  to  dreaming  of 
the  Marquess.  An  hour  later  she  heard  a  step  in 
the  hall,  the  handle  of  the  door  turned,  she  looked 
round  expecting  to  see  her  employer,  and  the  Mar- 
quess came  in. 

At  the  sudden,  unexpected  sight  Nancy  flushed, 
and  disliked  herself  very  much  for  flushing.  That 
did  not  stop  the  flush.  He  came  down  the  room, 
looking  very  solemn,  held  out  his  hand  and  said : 
"How  do  you  do  ?  You  must  have  missed  me  dread- 
fully. It's  four  days  since  we  saw  one  another." 

"I  haven't,"  cried  Nancy,  swiftly  defensive;  and 
she  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  with  some  vigor 
since  he  was  holding  it  tightly. 

"Oh,  come,  that's  very  unfriendly,"  said  the  Mar- 
quess in  a  dolorous  tone.  "I've  missed  you  dread- 
fully. Very  unfriendly  indeed,  I  call  it." 

Nancy  was  confused  by  his  unexpected  entry  and 
the  clasp  of  his  hand;  rising,  she  said  hurriedly, 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  MALL    303 

"Oh,  of  course,  I've  missed  you  like  that  in — in  a 
friendly  way." 

"In  what  way  did  you  think  I  meant  you'd  missed 
me?"  said  the  Marquess  with  a  sudden,  very  lively 
interest. 

Nancy  felt  that  she  was  blushing  furiously,  and 
she  disliked  herself  more  than  ever.  She  disliked 
the  Marquess,  too,  very  much.  She  said  with  some 
heat,  "I  didn't  think  that  you  meant  that  I'd  missed 
you  in  any  particular  way  at  all." 

The  Marquess  looked  at  her  with  a  solemn,  mad- 
dening perplexity.  "This  is  getting  very  compli- 
cated," he  said.  "I  don't  quite  follow  you." 

"Oh,  let's  talk  about  something  else!"  said 
Nancy. 

The  Marquess  looked  at  her  carefully,  and  said, 
"Certainly;  I  think  I  like  you  best  when  you  have 
a  lot  of  color  in  your  cheeks." 

Nancy  gasped :  "Oh !  I  think — I  think  you're  de- 
testable!" she  said  in  a  tone  of  extreme  exaspera- 
tion. 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not — not  at  all,"  said  the  Marquess 
in  a  most  amiable  tone,  and  he  gazed  at  her  ear- 
nestly. 

Nancy  found  it  difficult  to  recover  herself  under 
the  gaze  of  his  penetrating  eyes.  She  looked  round 
the  room  rather  wildly. 

"Look  here,  I  want  to  ask  you  something  very 
serious,"  he  said. 


3Q4    THE  HOUSE  ON  THB  MALL 

"What  is  it?"  said  Nancy,  relieved  by  a  change 
of  subject. 

"You  wouldn't  deceive  me,  would  you?"  said  the 
Marquess  very  solemnly  indeed. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Nancy;  and  then  she  added 
with  quick  caution.  "I  don't  know — it  depends." 

"Well,  I  want  to  know :  do  you  honestly  believe 
that  there's  a  more  beautiful  woman  in  Europe  than 
yourself?"  said  the  Marquess. 

"Me?"  cried  the  astounded  Nancy.  "Why,  of 
course  there  is!" 

"Fibber,"  said  the  Marquess,  and  he  laughed  his 
joyous  laugh.  "I  knew  you'd  try  to  deceive  me. 
You  know  there  isn't." 

Nancy  stared  at  him  rather  dazed. 

He  took  a  step  forward,  caught  her  hands,  and 
said,  "But  it's  no  good  trying  to  deceive  me,  Nancy. 
Not  a  bit.  I've  got  my  eyes,  you  know;  and  be- 
fore me  I  see  the  goal  of  my  ambition — the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  Europe." 

Nancy  was  trembling,  but  this  time  she  did  not 
snatch  her  hand  away.  She  wanted  to  hear  more 
about  the  subject.  It  had  begun  really  to  interest 
her.  She  did. 


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